


Mortem a Dios

by RagnarokAscendant, WrittenEmber



Series: Beyond the Crossroads [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Badass normal, Culture Shock, Cyborgs, Featuring the world's most unflappable librarian, Gen, Glen has plans, Golem - Freeform, Humbling the Gods, Loss of Identity, Magic, Magic Swords, Making a new government, Old Injuries, Plans, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pursuit, Revenge, Someone slaps Glen for angsting, Song - Freeform, Terraforming, Therapy Wolves, Uplift, multiple souls, nature of souls, split soul, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagnarokAscendant/pseuds/RagnarokAscendant, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenEmber/pseuds/WrittenEmber
Summary: This work was actually an unexpected one- as we wrapped up Regnum Amisit, we discovered that there was no way to adequately wrap up the events we wanted to explore without turning the book into something even Stephen King would consider excessively long.Ren is not quite dead- but her soul is held captive by the Huntress. And Glen Carviss is not willing to let that state of affairs stand. Reunited with old friends and comrades, he will tear down the heavens themselves to get Ren back- and that is something he is truly capable of.NOTICE:We are currently reworking this back into Book 2, and using 3 for other portions. However, we will leave this and the original, rough copy of the first three books up on AO3.





	1. Hunted

The hunting cries were getting closer.

The others followed Glen through the narrow streets of Blackstone Court’s sole walled town, watching the rooftops. Felix half-carried Diana, one of the Hunt’s arrows embedded deep in her shoulder. Arwin looked worriedly at her from time to time, electricity crackling down the length of his metal staff and making his blond hair stand on end. Avvy brought up the rear, the sword in her hand red with blood.

**[Movement!]**

He tracked and fired, rifle cracking and eliciting a scream of rage and pain as the plasma bolts hit home.

They just had to last a little longer…

At least Garth couldn't die. They could smash his current body -- and probably had, since it wasn't his combat form, just a pottery mannequin -- but he'd regenerate sooner or later.

 _Alarm_ warned him before his senses did, and he ducked as a member of the Hunt hurtled out of a side alley, claws bared. His kukri removed her head mid-leap, and he kept running, sending a pulse of _thanks_ down their link. He didn't have to look to know Cassiel was right behind him.

 

The sharp calls and cries of their pursuers grew louder; the Huntress's feral fighters didn't like seeing their numbers thinned. But it wasn't enough to deter them. They seemed to revel in the chase, and as it got down to the wire, they only grew more bold, leaving cover more often, moving in closer. He saw glimpses of them, lithe figures with wild grins, stalking in the shadows, running the rooftops.

 

Gaining on them.

 

Behind him, Arwin snarled in triumph as a lightning bolt leapt from his staff to slam into a rooftop, sending a smoking corpse flying.

 

There. The library. He ran up to the door, slamming his fist into the wood. It splintered slightly under the force of the gauntlet. “Open up!”

 

The door opened, revealing a young woman wearing glasses and a less-than-impressed expression. She took one look at the group and stood aside, though she gave first the dent in the door and then Glen a quick, rather pointed look as she did so.

 

Cassiel first. Then Felix and Diana. Glen went to full automatic, sweeping the rooftops as the others scrambled in, Avvy having to bend over to clear the doorframe. Only when they were all through did he follow them in, bolting the door behind him. Something hit the other side with a solid _thok_ just as the bolt slid home. A throwing knife, by the sound..

 

Felix was already clearing a table, laying Diana on it. She didn't make a noise, clenching her teeth as Avvy brusquely yanked the arrow out and set to work binding the wound. The bespectacled woman approached, calmly reaching in to help Avvy with the bandage. When it was done, she looked up, raising an eyebrow at them and waiting expectantly.

 

Glen ignored her as a screeching noise came from the door. Moments later, it stopped.

“Time?” he asked Arwin.

The Operative shook his head. “Six minutes.”

 

"Welcome to our library," said the woman, sardonically. "Do come in and make yourselves comfortable." She glanced at Diana, and when she spoke again her voice was resigned, but sympathetic. "Couch in that back corner," she said, pointing. "Much better than a table." She looked at Felix and arched that expectant brow again.

 

Felix shrugged, and picked up Diana again, moving her back.

Footsteps sounded on the roof.

“This place have a chimney or fireplace?” he asked. Freki appeared, growling at the roof.

 

"Yes," said the woman, "but nothing's coming in that way." An instant later, a pained yowl came from the back wall, hidden from sight by the rows of shelves. The sound echoed as if from an enclosed space, and was followed by a desperate scrabbling and then a low moan. Then nothing.

 

Glen raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

 

She shook her head. "Doubt it."

 

Someone rapped softly at the door. "Let me in," a voice called, muffled by the wood.

 

He leveled his rifle at the door. “Ha, no,” he said briefly. “I like my insides where they are, thank you very much.”

 

"Not you," the voice growled. "This is not your door to bar, runner. I speak to him or her that _does_ have that right."

 

"That would be me," the woman answered. "But I'm not inclined to open up, either. I don't want a mess in here."

 

"I will not make one," said the voice. "I only want to talk. Let me in?"

 

The woman rolled her eyes, and turned to Glen. "So, you going to tell me who you are and why I'm not kicking you out of here to settle things with your buddies out there on your own?" She eyed him, taking note of the armor, the rifle, and the red eye. And the fact that he was human. "Have to say, I'm awfully curious."

 

“Glen Carviss. And you’re not kicking us out because that’s the Hunt at your door.” He shrugged. “Apparently, they don’t like it when you find the Court with a library full of texts that describe old lore.”

“We did plan to use that lore to find out their mistress’s weaknesses, mind,” Felix said from over by the couch.

Avvy took a seat on the floor, cleaning the blood off her blade. “We’ve got until sunrise, which is in…?”  
“Three minutes,” Arwin said, pulling the zip down on his high-collared coat. “They’re desperate.”

 

A scratching sound started up on the door, emphasizing his words, but the woman didn't notice. She was too busy staring at Arwin, and the ruined left side of his face, the metal and the burns and the exposed teeth. Her tail twitched once, and she shivered, dropping her gaze.

 

Arwin seemingly ignored her, hefting his staff. “I’ll check for other entrances,” he said shortly, walking out of sight. Glen sighed, and turned towards the woman. “You’re the librarian?”

 

She watched Arwin go, visibly abashed at having made him uncomfortable, but nodded to Glen. "That's me," she said.

 

Her eyes drifted to the door. "Is that really the Hunt out there?" she asked. She didn't sound afraid, just curious. Her weight shifted, like she might be thinking of going to the door, but she stayed where she was.

 

“All female, feral, and _very annoying?_ If it isn’t, someone’s doing a very good job of faking it,” he replied shortly. “You have anything on the Huntress?” he asked, looking around. “It’s why we’re here, after all.”

 

Cassiel stood looking around at the library, radiating _curiosity, interest_. A handful tiny blue lights, the Sparks, flickered into being around him as he turned.

 

The librarian blinked at him, watching the Sparks dance. "Uh. Yes. Of course we do."

 

A long, rumbling growl vibrated the air, loud even through the heavy door.

 

“Oh bugger off,” Glen said _irritably_. A thought, and smoke coiled off his armor, taking the familiar forms of Id and Kuro. The mirror pair of immense wolves, pitch black and pure white, growled back in sync.

A vase rattled its way off a table, shattering on the floor.

 

All the growling and scratching outside stopped. He heard a hiss. For a moment, the sound of shuffling feet and low muttering. But after that, nothing.

 

The librarian's eyes were wide. She stared at the wolves in shocked fascination. "What...?"

 

“Sunrise,” Felix said. “They can't be within a settlement’s walls during daylight.”

 

“Even _I_ know that that is not what she means,” Diana said from her position on the couch.

 

Avvy raised a hand. “His armor does it. Three souls in one body, and it lets all three be present. I made it so.”

 

"Remarkable," said the librarian, lighting up. "That level of spellwork is exceedingly rare. Which magical discipline do you use?  I take it it isn't one of ours...? And you," she turned to Glen. "How did three souls end up in one body? That isn't normal for humans, as far as I--" She stopped. "Erm. Sorry. I shouldn't ask that. It's just so inter-- ah. Sorry. Don't mind me. Incurable scholar." She reddened. "Sorry," she said again.

 

He shook his head. “It's a long tale. Now, those books...?”

 

"Right." He could see her mentally shake herself. "Well, there's some up there," she pointed to a loft over the back half of the room. "Fifth row, left side, mostly second shelf. And some in that third room there, mixed in with the material on the Reaches.” She pointed to a row of archways opening onto smaller rooms. “If you want the really old stuff, that's in the stacks. I’ll bring it up for you. Are you looking for artifacts, too, or just texts?"

 

He glanced over at Felix, who shrugged. “Bit of sympathetic magic never hurt,” the copper-skinned mage said. “Sure.”

“Older’s probably better,” Glen said, before turning to the others. “Alright. We've got fourteen hours until nightfall. Let's do what we can, and then get moving before she can bring them back down on us.”

Nods all around, and Avvy stood to her full height, sheathing her sword. “I’ll help you get the books,” the black-armored Shikanen said gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ragnarok- Edited the closing portion a bit since I came up with an idea it somewhat contradicted.


	2. Ren on the savannah

Brilliant golden spheres of light flared into existence overhead, one and two at a time, and drifted slowly down to settle in the long grass. Ren stared at them from her spot under the edge of the trees, distantly curious.

 

She counted them. Seven. That was strange; they'd told her this didn't happen very often. What had they run into?

 

The lights grew as she watched, gradually changing shape. The one nearest her had almost finished becoming a woman.

 

Strong limbs, sharp claws. Smaller versions of the Huntress's tall horns. Reflective, golden eyes, catlike despite being round-pupiled. Maybe it was the expression behind them. Intense and predatory, even when their owner was only half-conscious.

 

The eyes suddenly focused, and the woman hissed, sitting up sharply. She put a hand to her chest, face haunted by pain. But there was nothing there.

 

"He shot me!" she growled, baring sharp teeth.

 

"Lucky," said one of the others, righting herself more slowly. "That big one sliced me in half. Clean, too. I had to bleed awhile before it ended."

 

"Yeah? Well watch that one with the metal stick. He throws lightning around. It hurts."

 

Ren flinched, and one of the others batted the speaker's head. "Ow! What was that for?"

 

The first woman nodded to Ren, and the other one shut up.

 

_ Not a kindness, _ Ren thought.  _ Just another push to make me let go of what I remember. To keep me  from thinking about… before. _

 

Thoughts of before would lead to thoughts of… 

 

Too late.

 

Separation ate at her edges, chewing her down to something small and lonely. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them.

 

A few moments passed, and more  golden shapes appeared, these ones stepping fully-formed out of the air all around her. 

 

The rest of the Hunt.

 

Ren lifted her chin and worked to clear her expression. They had no patience or sympathy for her when the depression took hold. Their answer was only and always to forget, to push the past away and run with them, run and hunt. The thing that frightened Ren was that it  _ worked _ . It was easy to let go and just run, to lose herself in the pack and forget for a while.

 

But Ren didn't want to forget.

 

Hurmana, long red tresses bristling, hissed in frustration, eyes slitted. “We failed. They barricaded themselves in, and we could not reach them in time.”

 

“Why were we even sent?” another grumbled. “The mistress would have killed the man himself if it hadn’t been for the Pathguard’s interfering. She could remove him easily enough if he’s such a threat.”

 

Pathguard? Something Joakim was involved in? Ren listened, hungry for even an echo of her lost life, the people in it. Longing for some clue what had happened, after.

 

She remembered lunging for Cassiel, remembered a dark flash and burning pain. Her body had crossed some indefinable threshold, and she'd felt herself thrown out of it, left drifting. There had been a pull, niggling at her as she struggled to get her bearings, still reaching for Cassiel. She needed to protect him, needed to watch Glen's back, needed to be there and keep fighting… Then a weight, sharp and gripping, wrenching her away. Everything had turned to whirling colors. 

 

Then it went black.

 

That was the worst part. The void. She'd trembled under it, had thought it would crush her. It was nothing like what she had believed death would be. How could eternity be so empty? Why was she alone? What had she done wrong?

 

It had felt timeless, but it hadn't been. Somewhere in the drift, it broke, and she woke here, in the long grass, reeling. Woke to curious strangers peering at her with golden eyes, to the Huntress standing over her with bloody claws and a triumphant, sharp-toothed grin.

 

_ Am I dead? _

 

_ You would be, if you weren't here instead. _

 

_ What happened? _

 

_ The little Thief killed you. _

 

_ But what happened to-- _

 

The goddess had cut her off.  _ You're here now. You're mine. In time you will forget everything else. _

 

Another voice jolted her back to the present. "The mistress wants us to hunt for her. It's what we're for.  And he's just a man."

 

“That  _ man _ is far more dangerous than you think,” Hurmana said, as though lecturing a small child. “And we failed to bring him or any of his pack down.”

 

“We brought down the golem!”

 

“That one's soul was elsewhere, and survived the body’s destruction. No, it still lives,” Hurmana snapped back. She shook her head. “I hope that the mistress will not be too angry.”

 

"I did hope you would achieve  _ something  _ more than this," said a familiar voice. Ren looked up. The Huntress had come among them as suddenly as a breeze, and with as little warning. "If you could not kill them, you might at least have kept them from their goal." Her words thrummed with a low growl, tail lashing as her gaze swept the assembled Hunt.

 

Every one of them bent low, grovelling, faces pressed into the grass. “Forgive us, mistress,” Hurmana said, keeping her gaze on the ground. “They were too well-armed for us. Their magic was too strong to face head-on, and the streets too narrow for us to outmaneuver them. And they knew…”

 

The Huntress paused. "What did they know?"

 

“We heard one of them speak of the old magic, the agreement that keeps us beyond settled walls during the dark hours. They knew of it  _ before _ they reached the Black Library.”

 

A snarl twisted the Huntress's lips. "Another betrayal. I will have to find a way to remind the Pathguard of the cost of favoring the wrong mortals."

 

The threat hung in the air like acrid smoke, until finally someone broke the silence. "What do we do now?"

 

"Sharpen your claws," the Huntress snapped. "And hope you can do better the next time."

 

Then she was gone.

 

After a moment, the others began to disperse, some moving off into the trees and others flopping down in the clearing to bask in the never-setting sun. Ren caught sight of Iskie, a very young -- or young-looking, anyway -- woman who had occasionally proven approachable when it came to taboo act of asking questions. Ren got up and went over to her, joining her on a large, sunny rock.

 

"Who were you hunting?" she asked, skipping any preamble that might give Iskie a chance to evade her.

 

Iskie stiffened and looked sharply at Ren. Her lower lip twitched like she wanted to bite it. "Bunch of people."

 

That was a suspiciously non-answer. Trying to shut her down? Why? "Well, it's just, I know... knew... I mean. I've met Joakim. He was really nice. I can't imagine who he'd be helping that would make the Huntress--"

 

"The mistress."

 

"--so mad. He's got no love for the Brethren, whatever's left of them, so I know it's not one of theirs. Who else does she have such a fierce grudge against?"

 

Iskie fidgeted.

 

"Nothing left of the Brethren," said another voice. Hurmana climbed up onto the rock with them. "Their vile little master was destroyed, and with his death all his copies."

 

Iskie nodded. "You were the last blow he ever struck," she told Ren. Hurmana bared her teeth, and Iskie dropped her gaze.

 

Ren's heart leapt. Finally! "Then--"

 

Hurmana cut her off. "Stop asking. Stop thinking about them. Just... stop."

 

"But I only want to know--"

 

"NO!" Hurmana snarled, lunging at Ren. She knocked Ren on her back, pinning her to the rock, teeth bared.

 

Ren snarled back, a surge of anger welling up in her. Hurmana's eyes brightened, and her snarl became a grin. She bore down on Ren, grinding her shoulders painfully against the rough stone, ignoring Ren's fingers digging into her arms. Ren brought her legs up and planted her feet against Hurmana's hips, then kicked.  Hurmana flew off her, clawed fingers leaving scratches as their grip broke, and sprawled in the dirt.

She stood with a snarl, hands spread wide.

 

Ren shot to her feet and lunged to meet her. Part of her thought it was a strange response; where did this violence come from? But that was a small part, compared to the sudden need to move, to react, to fight.

 

Hands grappled in midair, her body moving almost on its own, slashing attacks interspersed with attempts at holds half-remembered from sessions with Glen. Hurmana struck back with equal fury and speed, face contorted into a feral grin as they went at it hammer and tongs. 

 

It wasn't anger. Ren didn't know what it was. Hurmana snarled, and Ren growled back, thrilling at it. She traded blows with the other woman almost gleefully. There was an intensity in her head, that burned away questions and replaced reason with instinct.

 

She hit the ground, toppled by a kick. Pain flared in her ribs, and she hissed. A flash of lucidity.

 

What was she  _ doing _ ?

 

Ren saw Hurmana coming after her, and flinched, curling up defensively, arms over her head. Hermana stopped, crouched over her, and dug her claws into the sandy soil.

 

She growled in Ren's ear, demanding. Ren stayed where she was. Eventually, Hurmana stood, and simply walked away.

 

Ren lowered her arms, watching her go. Iskie had already run off. Others in the clearing looked over at her with expressions that ranged from curiosity to boredom to disappointment, but they didn't stare for long. Soon enough, Ren was alone with her own thoughts again.

 

Laying in the grass, not bothering to get up, she sighed. 

 

She felt detached. Even the pain -- scratches, bruises, what felt like a broken rib -- couldn't anchor her. It was already fading, anyway, the injuries slipping away like she'd dreamed them, leaving only phantoms behind.

 

Fights happened all the time among the Hunt. It was very nearly a sport, a group pastime. But Ren couldn't figure out how she kept getting drawn into them, or why it seemed to be happened more as the days passed. She wasn't an aggressive person. She didn't want to fight. She didn't even know what it was that had touched her off this time--

 

Oh. Oh!

 

She remembered! Iskie had slipped up, had as good as  _ told _ her that the Brother hadn’t killed Glen and Cassiel after all. They were alright!

 

Two weeks of asking,  _ begging _ , and being denied even a simple yes or no... she'd been growing increasingly certain that they'd died. Otherwise why refuse to tell her their fates? Why not let her have the peace of knowing that they were safe?

 

_ Because they want me to forget. To let everything go, and be one of the Hunt. _

 

Well, she knew now. She knew they were safe. And she was going to remember it.

 

She  _ was _ .

  
  



	3. Talking and nosy questions

Felix considered the metallic sphere in his hand, it's surface studded with orange-glowing symbols. “This'll work,” he announced, before shoving it into the small hole he'd dug in the earth outside Blackstone's walls.

Moments later, the earth rippled, and Garth clawed his way back to the surface. This body looked different from the last one- larger, the limbs thicker, the clay skin plated with black ceramic, the head heavy, with a pair of horns jutting forwards from the temples. Lights flickered to life across his torso and where his eyes would have been if he had them.

'Outcome?’ he signed.

 

“Diana took an arrow to the shoulder, but that's all. Got a few artifacts and a lot of texts,” Felix replied.

 

Glen nodded to himself, and turned away, heading back up the shuttle ramp, towards Cassiel and Freki. A brief spur of  _ hope _ came down the link the Sparks had made. “How're you doing?” he asked quietly. That oddly comforting parental  _ worry _ flowed from him like water.

 

Cassiel shrugged, feeling the weight of the question and not wanting to look close enough to answer it. 'Good,' his fingers said, because it was easier to lie with his hands than his voice, even if he couldn't hide the little surge of not-so-good feelings that slipped across the link. He quickly sent  _ urge-to-do _ , and signed 'What next?'

 

Glen shrugged. 'Depends-on intelligence’, he signed back, before switching to words. “If what we have has something useful in it's pages, we’ll find out. If not...Archons. And I don't relish the task of convincing Cidet to hand them over, not with Finyar the way it is.”

 

'Why upset there?' Cassiel asked. 'Enemy gone. People should-be happy?'

 

Glen sighed. “You tell people a lie long enough, it becomes truth. And the Brethren were bastards-” -a flare of  _ rage _ \- “-but people looked to them to keep order. Without that...I don't like what is undoubtedly going wrong.”

He shook his head, then looked up the ramp.

“I don't suppose telling you how much danger we're in would convince you to leave?”

 

The librarian stood at the top of the ramp, a notebook tucked under one arm. She quirked an eyebrow at Glen. "'Any risk in the pursuit and preservation of knowledge,'" she said, clearly quoting something. Her expression sharpened. "If you're taking my books, you're taking me."

 

Glen shrugged. “Worth a shot.” He headed up the ramp.  Cassiel followed him.

 

It wasn't the same shuttle, of course. Not for so many people. He missed the little one from before. Missed the time they'd spent in it, him and Glen and Ren, going around to other Courts. That was a good time. Just the right amount of exciting, with nothing to worry about or be afraid of.

 

But he knew that even if it had been the same shuttle, it wouldn't have felt the same. That was a sad thought, and he quickly pushed it away.

 

He jogged to catch up with Glen, passing through the cargo bay -- filled up with equipment and supplies -- and into the common room.  This, at least, had something familiar in it- their chess set, brought over from their old shuttle and given pride of place on the low table.

Arwin was sitting on one of the couches, while Diana was sprawled out on the other, talking idly.

“-doesn't even hurt that much. I don't like the sling. Confining.”

“Remember the tattoo artist?” Arwin said. “Both our pain senses are useless. So when Avalona says keep it in the sling, you keep it there.”

Diana groaned, and buried her face in a pillow. She looked back up as they got closer, and waved to Cassiel with her right arm, her left restrained by a bright blue sling.  Cassiel waved back.

“How's the clay man?” she asked lightly.

“Felix's bringing him up to speed,” Glen answered, heading for the stairwell. 

“And we’re bringing the scholar?”

Glen huffed. “Unfortunately. You and Arwin get to keep an eye on her.”

“Oh. Okay. I wonder if she knows the flowers here? I set up a garden, but they are too few to use.”

 

"As a matter of fact," said the librarian's voice from behind them. "I do. I'm sure I have a book or two on the region's flora, and I'm a fair hand at field botany myself. If it's fresh flowers you want, heartrod and yellow hemory are both in bloom. We can go looking for some later." She smiled at Diana. Then her gaze switched to Glen. "But right now... Glen, do you have a minute to talk? I have a few questions."

 

Glen leaned back against the staircase, a note of  _ wariness _ running through him. “Ask 'em, then. And quick. We need to be airborne before daylight.”

 

She nodded. "Well, the main one is… what’s all this about? You came here wanting to know about the Huntress. Specifically, looking for weaknesses to use against her. But you never said  _ why _ . What are you trying to do?"

 

_ Pain, _ so strong it nearly bowled Cassiel over, mixed with  _ rage _ and  _ will. _

“Force her to right a wrong,” Glen rasped. “If she can't,-”- _ fear _ \- “-kill her, and hope that is enough to accomplish the same.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “That enough for you?” he asked softly.

 

Cassiel stood rigidly, reeling with the force of Glen's emotions. 

 

The librarian blinked, studying Glen. She frowned, defensive, and nodded curtly.

 

“Good.” Glen turned, stalking up the stairs, every muscle tensed.  Freki bumped Cassiel's leg, getting him moving again, and they followed Glen upstairs. The librarian wisely stayed behind.

 

Upstairs was the bedrooms and the corridor that led to the cockpit, jutting out over the rest of the ship. Glen headed up the latter, where he sat himself down in the pilot's chair, taking deep breaths.

 

Cassiel hesitated a little ways away, knowing his  _ worry _ and his own  _ pain _ were reaching Glen, and that it wasn't helping any. He tried to send  _ reassurance _ , as best he could. When Glen had explained to the others what they was going to do, it had seemed so certain. But it was hard to hang on to those feelings of hope and confidence, when Cassiel could feel just how worried and upset Glen was now.

 

Didn't Glen think the plan was going to work?

 

Glen sighed, and hung his head. 'Difficult’, his hands signed. 'Control failing’. The  _ pain _ began to recede again. Not gone, but held back by reserves of  _ will. _

 

Cassiel wondered what would happen when those reserves ran out. 

 

'Good outcome certain' he signed. There was an edge of  _ doubt _ under the statement, but he quickly suppressed it.  _ Trust. Resolve _ .

 

Glen frowned. “I don't even know that for true, anymore. Not with what I read about the Hunt.” 'Time short’, his hands signed.

 

A shiver of  _ unease _ . ‘What read?’

 

Bitter  _ fear. _ “The Hunt….those souls it takes change. Become more like  _ her. _ If we don't find a way to finish things in our favor soon...one of the Hunt pursuing us will have Ren's face, and we'll be able to accomplish nothing but avenging who she once was.” He shook his head. “And we don't know yet how to keep the Huntress from simply leaving. Fighting a god takes knowledge and preparation, and we don't have  _ time. _ ” He snarled, and a spike of  _ anger _ tinged with Id's presence carried down the bond.

 

Cassiel's shoulders hunched. Ren... No, Ren wouldn't change like that. She couldn't.

 

Could she?

 

He looked at Glen with mute appeal. 'We will fix' he signed. He had to cling to that. He couldn't stand to think otherwise.

 

“We'll try,” Glen said, looking back. “And I’ve beaten worse odds.” He stood. “You want to take the copilot seat? Diana's grounded until her arm heals, so she can't take it.”

 

Yes. Yes he most certainly did. Cassiel hopped up on the second seat and even managed to put on a smile. This was good. This was something fun. This was also, though he didn't articulate it even to himself, something to think about other than the things that hurt.

 

And right now, that was pretty much the best.

  
  



	4. Magda has visitors

All across the city, the Doorkeepers guarded the entrances to the Below. Trapdoors and false-backed closets, locked doors at the end of forgotten hallways, carefully unremarkable doors hidden in plain sight. There were nine of them, each one a secret jealously guarded.

 

Magda wondered if the other eight were having better or worse days than she was. Probably better, she thought. It was hard to imagine worse.

 

The Brethren were gone. Dead, every last one of them. The rumour was that they'd found what was left of the First, Tredanus, in front of the slagged remnants of his throne, and that the palace had been filled with dead bodies. A rumour that Magda, lucky her, happened to know firsthand to be true.

Glen and his family had vanished the same day. Not even their bodies had been found, but one of the man's discarded weapons  _ had _ been- next to a pile of dead Brethren and blackbloods, deep in the tunnels. The Brethren had come for him, and the child whose power he and his wife had hidden from her.

Connected? Considering what Carviss had done when presented with even a tangential threat to his family, almost certainly.

Curse that man.

 

All of the Doorkeepers had to deal with the fallout from that, of course. The city in chaos; riots in the streets; Harwold's gang of thugs and thieves running rampant. The tattered remnants of the City Guard were helpless to do anything to restore order, and the Brotherguard had thus far proven shockingly useless without their masters to command them.

 

But Magda, unofficial spokesperson for the Doorkeepers that she had somehow become over the years, had the dubious privilege of an additional demand on her time and efforts: three deeply unwelcome strangers on her doorstep, waiting expectantly behind an apologetic yet insistent Bara.

 

“You bring me nothing but trouble,” she told the Long Patrol captain, eyeing the trio behind him. A pretty but decidedly reserved Demeki with an authoritative bearing that promised endless difficulty, a human promising equal difficulty purely by association with Glen, and -- because the human wasn’t bad enough -- one of those giant dhone-people Glen had told the children about.

 

Mercy on her sanity,  _ why? _

 

_ *Largely because your entire continent is on the verge of chaos,* _ a voice said, echoing inside her head. The dhone-person, clad in brown robes and wearing a necklace with a black-and-silver cross on it, nodded respectfully.  _ *And because Azrael’s mission reports indicated your network as being… relatively reasonable.* _

 

Magda stared at it. Its voice was  _ in her head _ . The tufted end of her tail stood up like a bottle-brush, reflecting her distress.

 

It spread it's hands.  _ *Given the situation...we have little knowledge of who is in power. You do. Assembly of those people is paramount if you wish to restore order.* _

 

“And we need order if we're to negotiate with a unified government,” the human said.

 

She stared at them. She realized her mouth was open. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts enough to close it. "You… want… what from me, exactly?"

 

Unified government. That was a laugh. Their government had just been  _ gutted _ . How were they supposed to fix that?

 

_ *That's easy, especially given how blindly following authority seems to have been the norm,*  _ the hulking alien said.  _ *You have a palace. Get people together, have at least the bare appearance of control, and the continent will flock to you for safety.* _

 

That was an eerily specific interpretation of her question. It almost seemed like he was answering her  _ other _ question. The one she hadn't asked...

 

“You're awfully cynical for a priest,” the human muttered, before looking directly at her. “But what we want? We want this region stable, and your superstitions dealt with.”

 

_ *Granted, those superstitions had some basis in fact, at least while the Brethren lived. The corruption they caused by merely existing...if they had not been killed, we'd still be scraping shaman vomit off half the Fleet’s bulkheads.* _

 

The human winced. “Don't remind me. This place _ still _ leaves a bad taste in my mouth. All that rotting god-magic...ergh.”

 

"Both of you…” -- maybe all three of them -- “And how many other…" The words died in her mouth.

 

Magic. From outside the barrier. The discussion with Carviss and his family around the table at Garth's inn came back to her. About corrupted magic and whether or not it could spread. 

 

_ And they use it so freely _ , she thought.  _ This one's very speech relies on it. _ She felt cold.

 

_ *Oh, not magic. Psionics. A different discipline entirely,*  _ the alien said idly.  _ *Those of my order take a vow of silence, but we must still comm--* _

 

Agh! It  _ was _ answering her thoughts,  _ hearing _ her thoughts! "Get out of my head!" she demanded. Or tried to demand. The authoritative tone was ruined somewhat by the panicked break in her voice. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, useless though she knew that was.

 

_ *I'm not within it in the first place. You're agitated enough to be broadcasting to every psychic in a ten-meter radius. Just like every other person in this city.* _

 

Her jaw dropped again. "What?"

 

_ *Strong emotions make surface thoughts obvious. No magic involved. So many people, afraid or dying, it's… overwhelming.* _

 

The human sighed. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he said, rubbing at his temples. “Look, either you get your people together and clean house, or we'll do it for you. You’ve spent time with  _ Carviss _ , of all people. You should know what the results would be if we had to settle things. And if you react this badly to us, I doubt anyone's going to greet the Archons with anything more than blind panic.”

 

The demeki woman cleared her throat. It was a slight sound, yet commanded attention; this was someone used to being listened to. Magda gave her an irritated look.

 

“That is what you fear the most? Magic?” The woman shook her head. “A world-altering handoff is happening, and you are watching the wrong hand. But let me try to redirect your gaze.”

 

Magda’s lips thinned, her ire growing. The woman noted it and narrowed her eyes, just slightly, conveying displeasure surprisingly well for such a subtle expression. 

 

“I understand the dangers of corrupt magic.”

 

“Thought magic where you're from wasn't corrupt.”

 

“It is not, but people are people anywhere you go, and  _ they _ can be frightfully twisted. Now listen.” A glower, delivered entirely through the faintest shadows of expression. Was there something wrong with this woman’s face, that she couldn't just frown like a normal person? But Magda listened, waiting grudgingly for her to go on. “My people suffered under the rule of a puppet-queen eaten alive by fouled magic, and the madwoman pulling the strings; they suffered again at the hands of idiots and sycophants who condemned the many to pay the price for the mistakes of the few. They very nearly lost  _ everything _ . But now? Now my people have safety and prosperity. They  _ thrive _ . And do you know what the key to that was?”

 

_ If you say magic, _ thought Magda,  _ I swear I will-- _

 

“Change.”

 

What?

 

“My people faced a profound choice. Embrace change, or face destruction. It fell to me to decide for them, and it was both the most difficult and the easiest decision I believe I will ever make as a ruler. Because change is terrifying; you cannot know what it will take away from you. But who would choose destruction?”

 

Magda shifted uncomfortably. It was a question as good as an accusation. What was  _ she _ choosing?

 

“Certainly not I,” said the woman softly. “Nor you, I think, unless I am misreading that stubborn look on your face.”

 

What an infuriating woman. 

 

But. 

 

Maybe not entirely wrong.

 

“We should take this inside,” she said, after a silence just long enough to be uncomfortable. She stepped back to offer them entry. “Before another gang of rioters finds this street.”


	5. Terraforming and Therapy Wolves

The world was a large one. Massive sheets of ice covered nearly two thirds of it’s surface, but the relatively warm regions near the equator were more than enough to house billions without difficulty. The atmosphere was thick with ash, making it seem a dirty gray from orbit. That same ash, poured into the atmosphere by the volcanoes that had melted their way through the continental sheets of ice, made the planet bitterly cold, almost entirely inhospitable to life.

Almost.

If one looked closer, bringing a ship down past the ash clouds like he was, one would find life. Hard life- plants that processed silicon and carbon ash, animals in organic armor that could withstand small-arms fire, small and deadly creatures that used the high gravity to topple larger animals to their deaths off of cliffs before clambering down to feed on the remains. But life all the same, carbon-based and with similar chemistries to the life of Shikan.

Urtzbar du Fluchtlund grinned behind his helmet as the cargo hauler-turned-research vessel came to a stop over the landing zone, a large plain filled with hardy grasses. A few grazers ambled slowly out of the way, defensive spines bristling as the group escaped the massive craft.

He checked his sensors. Air quality was better than expected- high oxygen levels, relatively low on the ash. Plenty of moisture in the air, and the temperature was hovering around 5 Celsius. The ice storm hovering on the horizon promised a change in that soon enough. He’d seen what those innocuous ice shards could do to a body when whipped into a frenzy. On Shikan.

His grin widened as he checked the status of the cryogenic pods that had been jury-rigged to the cargo points of his vessel. Each one contained a flash-grown clone of one of Shikan’s deadliest predators- the  _ daisfocker. _

It really said something about a species when their common name was an epithet. 

 

He set the vessel down carefully, and hit the large button that had been wired into his console. A shudder reverberated through the hauler as the pods decoupled and powered down. In half an hour, the cryogenics would have worn off entirely, and a new pack of the predators established. 

He almost pitied the armored mammals. A  _ daisfocker _ could run all day and night through the worst storms, and still have the strength in its limbs to tear a tank apart at the end of it. He knew there were other colonies being established of their domesticated relatives, the ones ridden and trained for precisely that purpose. 

And it wasn’t just _daisfocker._ _Halbuete_ , _xunthappe,_ _krysilgrus_ , _fausbom_ , countless other plants and animals, all being seeded over Caolain. They’d fight it out with the local life. Those that adapted would survive, and the weaker would perish, bones scoured by snow and ice and scavengers. And the entire planet would become something new and better.

That ice storm was closing fast, so he kicked up the ship, rising above it with practiced ease.

 

Ice, cold, a hellish quantity of volcanoes, crushing gravity, animals and plants that were the terror of just about every sapient species...Urtzbar grinned again.

 

Just like home.

 

###

 

Glen sat up in his bed with a gasp, breathing heavily. Calm. In and out. Just...just another nightmare. He swung out of bed, hair moving around him. It reached nearly halfway down his back, now. More difficult to keep untangled. But he wasn't going to cut it.

He focused on moving- stripping the sweat-soaked sheets from the bed, replacing them with fresh ones, like he had every night- before dressing. Sweatpants and a shirt. He wasn't going back to sleep. Pointless to try.

He checked the clock. Five hours. Better than he'd gotten for a while.

Maybe the books had something to do with that. A week to sift through them all, is what Avvy had guessed. A week to learn what they needed for the summoning.

He just hoped it was fast enough. He couldn't…

**[Stop. Focus on what can be done.]**

_ [Take vengeance if need be, but first is to put things right.] _

He sighed, and sent a mental note of thanks to the two, before picking up the metallic belt. He felt their consciousness's flow in and  _ out _ as they manifested behind him, crowding the tiny cabin.

He smiled, and climbed up the ladder, opening the hatch at the top. The wolves- well, Shikanen  _ Halbuete _ , but that was simply a larger, fluffier wolf- followed, bodies passing through the metal like smoke as he stood in the corridor.

Someone else was already in the kitchen.

 

He headed in. Diana was perched on one of the stools, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around her, the one with the sling held close. He wasn't the only one with nightmares tonight, it seemed.

Well, he was an old hand at dealing with hers, at least. He rifled through the cabinet, and then started to make coffee.

The bond  _ pulsed. _ Huh. Cassiel was awake too. He added more beans to the grinder.

A few minutes passed, and he slid a steaming mug in front of Diana, who hadn't budged. She sniffed audibly, then gradually unfolded herself, taking the mug and staring at it.

 

A moment later Cassiel appeared in the doorway, rumpled and sleepy. He saw Glen and soft  _ relief _ echoed across the bond, along with  _ concern _ . And that taint of  _ sadness _ the boy was always trying to suppress. He quietly slipped in and took up his preferred spot beside Glen. Like a little magnet, even when half-asleep.

 

Cassiel looked around and noticed Diana curled over her mug of coffee. Then his eyes went to the neck of her sleep tee, which was wide enough to expose the top edge of the tattoo on her back, and a hint of her cybernetics. Cassiel blinked, waking up a little as  _ curiosity _ prickled.

 

Diana drank down her coffee, and looked at Cassiel, eyes focusing on him with laserlike intensity. “Curious, little one?”

Id and Kuro walked in through the nearest wall, both of them settling down at the foot of Cassiel's stool as Glen handed him a mug of coffee.

 

Cassiel's tail flicked,  _ nervous _ under the intense gaze, but he nodded.

 

Diana nodded back. “My flight is not natural. Machines along my spine and shoulders. At full power, they become metal wings.” She shrugged. “It was not my choice, but I have adapted. Mostly.” Her hands tightened on her mug fractionally. “The tattoo helped. Told me I was  _ free _ , that this was  _ me. _ ” She drank the rest of her coffee in one smooth gulp. “Would you like to see it?”

 

_ Reservation _ warred with  _ curiosity _ as Cassiel bit his lip, considering. Curiosity won, and he nodded again.

 

Diana turned her back on him, and pulled the back of her shirt up to her neck with her good arm.

 

Glen had seen it before, but it never failed to amaze. The cybernetics were what you noticed first- vents, bladed protrusions, grey metal jutting a few centimeters out beyond her skin. They covered her shoulder blades, armor and reinforcements periodically visible under the skin on her spine. 

The tattoo surmounted it all- it started with a pair of wings inscribed just below her neck. Then a poem, written in swirling lines.

 

_ For the Angel of Death _ _   
_ _ spread his wings _ _   
_ _ on the blast, _ _   
_ _ And breathed in the face of _ _   
_ _ the foe as he passed; _ _   
_ _ And the eyes of the sleepers _ _   
_ _ waxed deadly and chill, _ _   
_ _ And their hearts but _ _   
_ _ once heaved _ _   
_ __ and forever grew still.

 

Ending it near the small of her back was the sinuous shape of an eel, coiled below the last line, skin crawling with blue-white bolts of lightning.

“What do you think?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

 

Cassiel stared at the cybernetics with a mix of  _ fascination _ and  _ distress _ , tail flicking uneasily. Then his attention fell to the tattoo, traveling slowly down the lines twice.

 

Finally, he signed 'Scary.’

 

Diana lowered her shirt back into place, and nodded. “It is meant to.”

 

‘Hurts?’ he asked.

 

She shook her head. “Nothing does, not much, not anymore. Not for me or Arwin.”

 

“Reminds me,” Glen said. “Why isn't he up here? He usually helps.”

Diana shrugged. “I did not want to trouble him. The nightmares have been more common, lately. Monsters in the dark.” She closed her eyes, and breathed deep. “It will pass.”

He nodded. They all had things like that in their past. Even Avvy, the most normal of them.

_ *When the nine-foot-tall furry alien battle mage is the most normal, you have very strange friends,* _ Kuro said from his position on the floor.

 

Diana nodded impassively. “We are all strange.”

Wait.

“You heard that?” he asked. Diana nodded again.

He looked down at Id and Kuro. “Huh. Guess the armor does more than just making you physical.”

 

***Good. I want to talk,*** Id said happily.

 

Cassiel looked down at Id and smiled.

 

Id wagged his tail, the smokey appendage thumping against the floor.

Glen looked at Cassiel. “Did I wake you?” He tried to restrain the  _ worry _ he felt, but something in Cassiel's expression told him he hadn't succeeded. He poured himself a mug of coffee.

 

Cassiel shook his head, a faint twinge in the link giving away the lie even if Glen hadn't already guessed as much.

 

He sighed, and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Don't need to lie to spare my feelings,” he said softly. “How bad was it?” He packed as much  _ reassurance _ as he could into the link- he didn't want the boy to think he was mad at him.

 

He got a shrug and an answering echo of  _ comfort _ . Then, 'Bad dream feeling. Fear. Hurt.' A pause, heavy with  _ helplessness _ . 'Wish could help.'

 

He hugged him. “I'm not sure how,” he said. “But you don't have to.”

 

“He can walk your dreams,” Diana said suddenly. “Didn’t you tell us that? When we talked about other gods.”

 

He shook his head. “Don't want to subject you to those,” he said to Cassiel. “Ever.”  _ Keep-safe protect! _

 

Cassiel leaned into him.  _ Reassurance. Worry-for. _

 

“Don't worry too much about me. Can't hurt any more than I already have been.” He patted the boy's head. “You, on the other hand…”

Id sat up, then rose on his hind legs, putting paws on Cassiel's shoulders. This had the side effect of burying both of them in smoky, illusory fur.

 

“He's so fluffy!” he heard Diana say delightedly from outside his fur-filled vision.

 

Cassiel giggled, reaching up to pat Id’s neck.

 

“Okay, you've made your point,” Glen groused. “I'll stop worrying so much.”

 

***And moping,*** Id said.  ***We have done more difficult and dangerous before, and alone.***

 

_ *Alone, we three have killed gods, toppled empires. With all of us together…*  _ He could practically  _ hear _ Kuro grin.  _ *...there is nothing we cannot accomplish.* _

 

“I want to hear a story about that,” Diana said, voice muffled slightly by Kuro’s fur.

 

Id, the traitor, got back down at all fours, looking up at him with an eager expression.

Dammit.

He shook his head, smiling ruefully.

“It all started like this…”

 


	6. Identity

Hot sun, hard earth, the long grass stinging the Hunter's legs as she chased and was chased. Not remembering why they ran. Not caring.

 

Less painful that way.

 

Across the open ground, into the dusty shade of the trees. The pack-sisters darting in and out of sight, flashing sharp teeth, snapping and growling. Razor thin, the line between play and aggression; amid the joyful cries of the mock-hunt… a snarl in earnest.

 

Two of them fell on each other, biting and clawing. The Hunter joined the others pacing around them, watching, one with the restless circle of gold eyes and laughing-predator grins.

 

The fight was fierce and brief and quickly forgotten.

 

They ran again, and the Hunter ran with them. The farther they went, the deeper she slid into her wild self, the bright-edged feral part of her. A small voice in the corner of her mind tried to call her back. But it was so much easier to let go. 

 

The wild self wasn’t lonely. It didn’t carry loss and longing in its chest like a weight. It didn’t know, or care, that it had been denied both life and death, and all the loved ones on both sides of the divide. All the wild self wanted was to hunt… or spar with its pack-sisters… or lay on the rocks under the hot sun with no memory of any other time or place.

 

Right now, it wanted to  _ run _ .

 

Somewhere in the thornbrush and the dappled shadows, flying feet eating ground until everything was a blur, it lost the others. It slowed, then stopped. Eyes scanning, tail flicking. Where did they all go?

 

_ You are this far gone already? I would have assumed Carviss would have taken a mate equal in fortitude. _

A voice, from everywhere and yet nowhere. Cold and icy.

 

Carviss. With the name came  _ hurting _ , deep and ragged-edged. The Hunter bared her teeth at the voice, a pained grimace poorly masked by a snarl.

 

_ The Huntress...hmm, she does shoddy work indeed. So simplistic. Well, she's half an animal herself. It probably can't be helped. _

There! Behind the tree!

She whirled as a ragged figure stepped out from behind it, leaning on a long oak staff. A patchwork cloak covered it, the mere suggestion of a form underneath. Icy blue points of light burned underneath the cloak's hood, staring at her.

_ Hmm...it should be simple enough...yes… _

 

“Who are you?” she growled.

 

_ Hush. You are not who I am after. _ The figure paused for a moment, considering.  _ Ah. There we are. _

It moved closer to her.

 

The Hunter backed away. Hands up, claws ready. The urge to run and the urge to fight balanced each other for the moment. But she was still hurting, his use of the name like dipping a claw into a raw wound. It made her want to hurt him back.

 

Her focus sharpened, eyes narrowing. 

 

It didn't stop, still advancing.  _ This is for your own good. Well, not  _ yours _ precisely.  _ It raised its staff.  _ Don't be difficult. _

 

The Hunter lunged, reaching, one hand attempting to knock the staff aside so she could unleash her claws on that hidden face, those bright-burning blue eyes. 

 

The moment her hand made contact, her world shattered.

 

...

 

Ren blinked. She felt adrift, as if she wasn't properly attached to her body. She could sense the other part of her, the wild part, just barely below the surface, still reeling with the backlash of whatever that staff--

 

Staff?

 

She turned her head, the sky and the sparse, thorny branches of the trees wheeling slowly aside until she found a figure in a patchwork cloak standing a little ways away.

 

"Who...? What did you do?"

 

There was, she realized, a rock digging into her back. Ouch. She sat up slowly, still fighting the floating feeling.

 

How long had she lost herself? It was close to impossible to tell time in a place where the sun never moved. But it felt longer and longer, every time it happened.

 

She shivered.

 

_ Restored control of yourself,  _ the figure stated. He- even formless, the voice was masculine- shrugged, despite lacking defined shoulders.  _ I cannot very well fulfill my obligation if you're subsumed by the Huntress's manipulation. _

 

“Obligation?”

 

The figure made a noise that wasn't  _ quite _ a snarl.  _ Carviss, though he rejected my offer, nonetheless did what I wanted him to. The Brethren are dead and gone. I owe him, as  _ onerous _ as that is. His and the child's minds are closed to me, and I lack the strength to form in the material realm. So it falls to you. He searches for a way to restore you. I will ensure there is something left to restore. _

 

Glen! And Cassiel! "They… they're alright? Really they are?" Ren's voice broke, and she realized she was shaking. "I thought they were dead… and then I didn't… but I couldn't remember why I didn't… and I didn't know… I… I couldn't…" She stopped, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood, and struggled to calm herself.

 

_ Both are... functional.  _ The figure’s head moved, and he nodded.  _ Come with me. We will discuss this elsewhere. There is much you need to be informed of. _

 

Ren got to her feet, looking nervously over her shoulder. “There's nowhere I can go that they won't turn up eventually. Believe me, I've tried. And they… aren't going to be happy with you, for helping me like this.” Why  _ was _ he helping her? No, he'd told her already, he'd said-- “Wait. Did you say Glen is looking for me?”

 

The figure tapped the butt of his staff against the ground, causing a glowing blue portal to appear. She could see castle walls in it, and a grassy plain.  _ Yes and no. Follow. _ He walked through the portal, and waited.

 

She hesitated. Was she really going to follow a strange entity through a portal, just like that? Granted, he had helped her just now. And he said he knew Glen. Seemed to be willing to tell her what was happening, where Glen was and what he was doing. 

 

Unless he was lying.

 

Then again, the alternative was to stay here. And if she did that... Well. It was only a matter of time before she lost herself for good.

 

Somewhere nearby, she heard voices, and the rapid staccato of running feet.

 

She stepped through the portal.

 

It slammed shut behind her silently. The figure turned to her.  _ Which would you like to know first? _

 

A barrage of questions echoed in Ren's head. Who was he? Where were they? Could the Hunt find her here? But all of them paled beside what she needed most to know.

 

"What happened? To Glen and Cassiel, after… you know. Where are they now? Somewhere safe? You said the Brothers were destroyed… and Glen… What--" She stopped herself, and took a slow breath. The other self was stirring, restless because she was agitated. It wanted to take over, run from questions and fears, push it all down and her with it. She held it at bay. "What's going on?"

 

_ The Brother killed you, briefly. One of Carviss’s companions revived your body, but the Huntress had already claimed your soul. A reward, she called it. Carviss… objected. But he was exhausted and unprepared. She nearly killed him. _

_ The rest is… more difficult to piece together. But from what I can glean, Carviss and his band are looking for a way to force the Huntress to restore you to mortal form. As you can imagine, the Huntress wants to keep you. _

 

Ren stared.  _ Nearly killed... _

 

Fear. Of what could have happened. Relief that it had been averted. Guilt, because she hadn't been able to protect him.

 

Stronger than the rest, _ anger _ . The desire to sink her claws in the Huntress and-- Ren stopped that thought, just as the other self surged and nearly seized control. She reined them both in, the wild self and the anger, but the latter would not be dulled. Not when the Huntress had hurt Glen.

 

And yes, the goddess had called what she'd done to Ren a reward. An honor. Ren hadn't agreed, even when she'd thought the choice was between the Huntress's intervention and true death. Now? Knowing that she could have lived? It felt like nothing short of a betrayal.

 

But. "Can… Can she do that? Make me mortal again?"

 

_ Perhaps. It has never been done before. But given Carviss's peers… I think the Huntress will  _ have _ to, sooner or later.  _ She realized she could see stars behind him. And through him.  _ The man himself is in a weight class with beings that make us gods look  _ puny,  _ through what I can only assume is sheer stubbornness. If the Huntress had any brains underneath her pride, she'd be handing you over gift-wrapped right at this very moment. _

 

Ren smiled. That was Glen, alright. A man who could hold his own even among Archons. 

 

But the smile faded. Part of her feared that even he couldn't fix this.

 

The star-eyed god looked at her, tapping his staff against the ground absent-mindedly.  _ Now, how to prevent you from being overtaken entirely…  _

 

A growl rose up in Ren's throat, as the other self rippled uneasily at his words. She caught herself and cut the sound off, turning her eyes away. "Sorry."

 

She saw, then, the edge of the island they stood on. The stars were not only beyond and above, but below as well. There was no cloud sea here, only an edgeless starry expanse. An endless night, perfectly opposite to the Huntress's nightless realm. Which god was he? With a realm full of stars?

 

She looked back at him. Patchwork cloak. Blue ice eyes in a hidden face. It rang a bell. Not a god she knew, but the description was familiar… 

 

"You're the 'ragged man', the broken god that lured Cassiel away!" She took a step back, narrowing her eyes.

 

_ Yes. My name is Unueml the Philosopher, God of Dreams and Visions. And I am here to help you. _

 

"You were far from 'helpful' before," said Ren.

 

_ I was--! _ He took a deep breath.  _ I... miscalculated. I wanted the Brethren  _ gone _ , and I only saw one route forward. I was... drastically wrong. And now I owe  _ Carviss  _ for doing what I could not, at far less of a price. _

Ren eyed him. "Don't know if I trust someone who would consider using a child like that as justifiable means to an end. No matter how awful the Brothers were."

 

_ Trust me or not, I still saved you from the Huntress's influence. And I intend to ensure that remains permanent. _

 

That… was true. For the moment. "Permanent how?" Ren's tail flicked nervously. She had no desire to trade one deity's hold on her for another's.

 

_ I intend to isolate the portion of your soul the Huntress has modified from the rest of it. It won't... _ entirely  _ prevent it from taking you over, but it will prevent final conversion and you should retain at least  _ some _ measure of control, no matter how deep you go into a feral state. It should last as long as I do. _

 

He wanted to split her soul.

 

She thought of Glen, divided in three. He couldn't always control when one of the other two took over. But he always came back. And he was always himself when he did.

 

Not so for her, as things stood now. Every time  _ she _ came back, she remembered a little less, had fewer handholds to hold onto herself, was that much less the person she thought she'd been.

 

"Will I stop… losing things? Losing myself?"

 

_ Yes.  _ He chuckled.  _ Say what you will about Carviss's order, but their handlers have pushed the limits of soul manipulation far beyond what I thought was possible. I will be using similar techniques. _

 

Ren nodded. Whatever he could do, however he could do it, if it would keep her from slipping away into nothing. "Then yes. I--" She shuddered violently. 

 

The Hunter looked up. "No."

 

_ Ah. Well, now I know the time limit on  _ that _ technique. Always good to have experimental data. _

_ I don't believe you have a choice in the matter. _ He hefted his staff. 

 

"Why not? My choice is better." She backed away. Had to stay away from that staff. "We can't be mortal again. Hoping for it will just hurt more. We're dead, and we have to learn to let go."

 

_ If you were dead, we would not be speaking. The power of the death gods sleeps, so you would not be speaking to them either, come to think of it. _

He shrugged.

_ No matter. You are not the one I am obligated to protect. Back you go. _

Rainbow light.

 

Ren found herself sitting on the ground, dizzy. She shut her eyes and sighed. "Sorry."

 

_ It is not  _ your _ fault. Now, hold still while I work. _

 

She saw the staff move, and then she saw nothing but color. A riot of light as she drifted, or maybe fell, it was hard to say which. Something inside her grew cold, a hollow chill like an empty space. She floated in it, adrift. The other self surged, and then an immense pressure closed in. Ren felt like she was sinking under the weight, but rising, too.

 

She felt... duality. The space between one perspective and the other thickened, the colors went white, and Ren's mind buzzed like the haze at the edge of fainting. It passed slowly, and when she opened her eyes, she was laying on the ground, wrung out, limbs heavy.

 

And there was something in her head. Like a knot, or a wall. Some part of her that was held in suspense, enclosed.

 

[pointless! mistress will never free us. pack-sisters will never leave us alone. we can't have back what we've lost, and you're just making it harder!]

 

Her voice, her thoughts, yet not. 

 

The other self.

 

_ Oh _ that was weird. She'd been able to feel that other part of her before, of course. It had been like a compulsion, a tic in her brain that pushed her to react or even pushed her under and took over altogether. But it had never spoken to her. Never been a separate presence.

 

_ Don't care, _ she told it.  _ Not letting go. _ She bit her lip.  _ And. Uh. Hello. I guess. _

 

[…]

 

[hi.]

 

_ Good. It worked. Next... would you like to see him again? I can arrange that, briefly at least before the Huntress notices you've gone astray.  _ Unueml looked up.  _ I am honestly surprised she hasn't already. Maybe six centuries inside a cage has made her sloppy. _

 

An audible rumble echoed through the air.

_ I really should learn not to tempt fate _ , Unueml said dryly.

 

Ren yelped as a hand closed on the back of her neck, sharp claws digging in.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" the Huntress snarled. "This one is mine!"

 

_ There are several who would disagree with that statement. And I think you underestimate just how powerful those people are. _

 

"First the pathguard, and now you. Since when do we curry favor with mortals? This. Is.  _ Mine _ ." The Huntress looked at Ren, starting hard at her, and her scowl deepened. "What did you do to her?" she growled. Ren gasped as the Huntress's claws tightened, piercing skin and digging into muscle. The other self  _ surged _ and Ren--

 

\--floated. The world hadn't vanished into the dark of unconsciousness. It was just… farther away.

 

The Hunter yowled and swiped at the mistress's arm. The mistress cocked an eyebrow. "Whatever it was, it doesn't seem to have worked." She glared at the dream god with narrowed eyes, tail lashing. "Don't interfere again."

 

_ Heh. No. I think I will do as I please. You do the same with mortals, after all. _

 

The mistress snarled, copper light flashed, and brilliant sunlight replaced the starry void.

 

The Hunter fell to the ground when the mistress let go, shoulders hunched as hot blood trickled down her neck. The pack-sisters gathered. Their gold eyes flicked away and back and away again.

 

"Don't let her wander alone again," the mistress said, using the low voice, the you'll-regret-disobeying-me voice. The pack-sisters cringed.

 

The mistress left. The pack-sisters caught the Hunter up in their fighting and playing and running, and she went with them willingly.

 

In her head, the Ren-self waited. Watchful and aware.

 


	7. Names

 

Cassiel stood at the edge of the circle painted on the floor of the cargo hold. He had his kukri in hand, safely sheathed for practice, and he waited eagerly as Glen readied himself across the circle.

 

Arwin watched from his position on the weight bench, wearing a sleeveless workout shirt. There was a  _ lot _ of metal in his body, even more than Diana, little posts of it sticking out along his spine and limbs.  It didn't surprise Cassiel all that much. He was getting pretty used to the two of them. Arwin didn't cover his face while they were aboard the shuttle, so his scars and alterations -- even the exposed jaw -- weren't a shock anymore. And Diana... Diana was just Diana. It almost seemed normal after a while.

 

Glen himself seemed more haggard than before, but the prospect of a sparring session had made him look half alive again. The beard helped, concealing how gaunt he looked, at least a little.

There hadn't been as many nightmares the last few days, either. Maybe Glen was recovering.

He paced on the other side, before nodding. “Let's do this.”

 

Cassiel stepped into the ring, sharing his  _ enjoyment _ and  _ determination _ with Glen through their link.

 

They both moved in toward the center, circling each other. Cassiel was careful not to decide to make the first move. He just...  _ moved _ , darting in and trying a slash at Glen's forward leg.

 

Glen sidestepped, blade flashing out in a counter, leashed  _ bloodlust _ tinging the link. That, too, almost seemed normal. Whenever they'd sparred, Glen seemed to take a savage sort of pleasure in it. The counter turned into a full-on assault, blade flashing in harsh arcs.

 

Cassiel grinned, energized, and deftly evaded the attacks. Mostly just by being quick on his feet, but a couple of times even managing to parry a blow.

 

Glen slowed and stopped as Cassiel fell back, waiting for a response, guard up.  Cassiel gathered himself, preparing without planning. He darted to the side, expecting a counter and avoiding it with a sudden change of direction and an attack of his own. The attempted strike was blocked, but he was already moving to strike again. He kept it up this time, persistent.

 

He'd fought Glen dozens of times. He knew that he aimed to end fights quickly. If he wore him down…

 

Glen's counters were slowing, ever so slightly. An opening.

 

Cassiel took it, darting inside Glen's reach at an angle as if he were going to duck under his arm and past him, then instead slashing at his briefly exposed midsection.

 

And then Glen  _ moved _ , barely visible as he spun on his heel.

Cassiel felt the sheath touch the back of his neck.

“Checkmate,” Glen said,  _ bloodlust _ fading into  _ proud-for _ . “Get older and stronger, though, and you might match me. Definitely, if this keeps going.”

 

Cassiel grinned.

 

“The universe's scariest eight-year-old, everyone,” Arwin said dryly. 

 

Diana jumped down from the catwalk silently, grinning. “Oh, no. Shikanen hit adulthood at seven. They're scarier at eight. He's all tiny and harmless.”

 

Often true, depending on who was around. But not always. Cassiel feigned an offended expression. 'Tiny maybe. Not harmless.'

 

Diana nodded, and then patted him on the head, ruffling his hair. “Want me to braid it again?” she asked. “I won't put flowers in it this time.”  Cassiel considered, then nodded. He liked the braids. “Come on,” she said, floating a few inches off the floor. “I’ll get my brush.”

 

Cassiel started to follow her, then paused to look back at Glen, faintly  _ worried _ . The sparring seemed to have lifted Glen's mood, but that might not last long.

 

Glen smiled, though, and waved him off. “Go on,” he said softly. “Enjoy yourself.” A slight trill of  _ contentment _ confirmed it.

 

The link faded as Cassiel left the cargo area with Diana, until all he could feel was that Glen was  _ there _ , connected to him, but without any sense of what he was feeling. It had startled him, the first time they got far enough apart for that to happen. But he knew now that he'd still feel it if something important happened.

 

That was why Cassiel knew when Glen was having especially bad nightmares, despite them having separate rooms.

 

Glen was okay right now, though, and Cassiel was content with that.

 

He watched Diana fly up the stairs instead of climbing them, and wondered why she moved so much easier that way. It seemed like flying should be harder than walking, but for her it was the other way around.

 

Diana's room was sparse and spare, save for a single ornate wooden wardrobe, which reached nearly to the ceiling. Most of the remaining space was occupied by a low cot and a mess of random clutter, books and clothing for the most part. Diana rummaged briefly through the wardrobe before extricating a bright blue hairbrush, which she waggled at Cassiel. “Sit.”

 

He sat on the floor in front of the cot.

 

She perched herself on the edge, working the brush through the worst of the tangles. “Always so messy,” she said.

 

Cassiel shrugged. He didn't mind messy hair.

 

Then he thought suddenly of Ren, making him comb it even when it was barely tangled at all. Trying to mess with it, and how he hadn't let her.

 

'Changed mind,’ he signed, scooting away from Diana. ‘Sorry.’

 

She nodded. Then hugged him. “It is okay. Being sad is...normal,” she said. She paused. “I think I remember what it felt like.”

 

‘You do-not get sad?’ he asked. 

 

She shook her head. “Not really. Sometimes happy, when I can fly and fight. Never sad. No room in my head for it.”

 

Cassiel wondered what that would be like. It was hard to imagine. 'Angry?' he asked. 'Scared?'

 

“Yes. Both of those...they are useful for survival.” She shrugged. “Sadness degrades combat effectiveness, so they cut it out to add more  _ metal. _ ” Her hands gripped the edge of the cot as she took deep breaths.

 

'Bad people,' he signed. 'Wrong to-do to you.' That probably didn't make her feel any better, though. He thought a moment. 'They not here. Just you. You still have can-be happy.'

 

She nodded. “I know. Still doesn't change things. Some memories stay, even if they hurt.”

 

‘Understand.’

 

Diana let out a breath, and let go of the cot. “I'll bet you do. But! Not a time for bad memories.” She shook her head. “Maybe I should tell you a story? Or are you too old?”

 

Cassiel smiled. ‘Like stories,’ he assured her.

 

“Then I'll tell you one about how I met your father,  _ klainkampfer. _ ”

 

He nodded eagerly. That  _ definitely _ sounded like a good story. Then he tipped his head, curious. 'Unknown word?'

 

“Shikanen for 'little warrior’. That is what you are, so it is what I will call you.”

 

He blinked, then grinned. 'I like.'

 

“Good, because you're stuck with it.” She poked him on the forehead.

 

Cassiel rubbed the spot and made a ‘hey!’ face at her, then smiled again. ‘Tell story?’

 

“Sure. It was a long time ago, but…”


	8. Making governments and reclaiming pets

Magda had never set foot inside the Brethren's palace compound before the fateful day for which the term 'the Brotherfall' was rapidly gaining popularity. Her first impression of the place, formed on that day, had been one of aged splendor and an eerie kind of hollowness, like a home that had been well kept up, but not lived in for a very long time.  
   
That, and a disturbingly large number of dead bodies.  
   
Aside from the -- thankfully -- absent bodies, it hadn't changed any in the weeks since. She silently cursed Harwold for suggesting that they should hold the meeting here to take advantage of the borrowed authority doing so granted them. She cursed him all the more for being _right_. And, for that matter, for being involved in the aspiring ‘ruling council’ at all. But try as she might, she had to admit there had never really been much chance of avoiding that.  
   
The Brotherguard, she noted, hadn't even bothered to send a representative. The Civic Guard had, for what their help would be worth. There couldn't have been more than a few dozen of them left in all of Prizton, between Carviss's destruction, the riots, and desertion.  
   
Unfortunately, that one representative was about all the council had in the way of officials. The Brethren _were_ Finyar's government, not merely as leaders but at every level. With them gone, there was no one left. The rest of the would-be council were mostly merchants and tradesmen, heads of Prizton's many guilds.  
   
 _Isn't that lovely_ , she thought. The commander of a functionally incapacitated law enforcement, the self-titled Thief Lord masquerading as just another merchant, and a roomful of coin counters. And herself, on behalf of the Doorkeepers, for whatever that was worth.  
   
 _This_ was to be the start of their new government?  
   
“Well, we're all here,” Putarch, the head of the Lender's Guild, said sourly. “Now how on Finyar do we go about fixing things?”  
   
"The way you build anything," said Harwold. "One piece at a time. In this case, I think it would be wise to start with restoring a bit of order in the city."  
   
Magda kept a neutral face with some difficulty. As if his band of thugs wasn't out there contributing to the chaos even as he spoke.  
   
"Agreed," said Oswin, the aforementioned representative for the Civic Guard.  
   
“With what men?” Moch, who represented the Guild of Bakers, asked. “There can't be more than fifty of your bluecloaks left, and the Brotherguard hasn't shown hide nor hair of itself since the Fall.”  
   
“Speaking of which, where are they? You'd think they'd at least respond to us coming _here_ , of all places,” the Weaver’s Guild appointee, Panalope, asked. “If not to participate, at least to inquire why we were here in the first place.”  
   
"Last I'd heard, they had holed themselves up in their Wall," said Magda. The wall around the Brethren's compound was in fact a fortress itself, a series of towers connected by thick, double walls with fortified passages inside. "Haven't they come out at all?"  
   
"My men pried open the main gate to get in here," said Oswin, "and they didn't even show themselves for _that_."  
   
“Back to my original question,” Moch said. “Where are we supposed to get the men?”  
   
“My company is willing to help,” Captain Bara said. “But there's only a hundred of us. Not enough to do much more than keep order on a few streets around our barracks, like we are now.”  
   
"The Guild of Coin and Mints has men," said Harwold. That was what the other merchants knew him as, a high-level guildsman. "Hired guards, to protect our guildhouse and our wares. The rest of you have the same, of course. I expect we'd have a worthwhile force, if we pooled them all."  
   
“They're _guards_ , not soldiers,” Moch protested. “And if we remove them, who protects our warehouses?”  
   
Bara shrugged. “Hire more of them, then. You have the coin. How many does that give us, put together?”  
   
Putarch’s abacus clacked as he shuffled beads around.  
“If the number of guards per warehouse is consistent to those we employ to guard collateral...nearly four thousand, if all the guilds combined their strength. Not soldiers, but _perhaps_ they will do for keeping order.”  
   
Oswin nodded. "The city isn't full of soldiers, it's full of civilians. Half of them are hiding, and most of the other half only need a good showing of authority to set them straight. What's left after that, well, that's an element that never entirely goes away anyhow. We'll deal with it."  
   
She would swear Harwold smirked at that.  
   
“So it is settled? We'll use our guards to reassert control?” Panalope asked. “I suppose the next thing to ask is how we pay for it all.”  
   
“The Brethren levied fairly harsh taxes. It is almost a guarantee that their proceeds are somewhere in the compound,” Putarch replied. “We should lay claim to it.”  
   
"We'll have to locate it first," said Ceneric, from the Guild of Tanners and Leatherworkers. "But then yes, and at that point the question becomes: who will be in charge of it then? The nature of this council hasn't really been made clear. Are we advisors? If so, who are we advising? Who, exactly, is going to, well, you know, run things?"  
   
“Why not us?” Putarch said calmly.  
   
Ceneric blinked, as if the idea simply hadn't occurred to him. "Oh."  
   
Magda nodded. "A council will make for better rule than any one person. We don't want to return to the old days of monarchy, after all."  
   
“We'll need a constitution,” Moch pointed out. “But save that for when we have some stability?”  
   
"Never leave for later what someone might use against you in the meantime," said Harwold. He shrugged. "Not saying we have to hash everything out on the spot. But we should work out our basic intentions and roles as soon as we can. Nothing encourages people to question your authority more than _you_ not being clear on how much authority you have."  
   
Nods all around.  
“We'll need to divide up responsibility for managing portions of the recovery, at the very least,” Ladon, the head of the Smith’s Guild, added roughly. “For now...who among us has the most individual authority? There are too many of us to make quick decisions, I believe. We need _someone_ at the top with final say.”  
   
Ceneric shook his head. "That just takes it back to a single person with all, or at least most, of the authority. I thought we just said we didn't want that?"  
   
"Well," said Oswin, "Perhaps a smaller subset of our group. Everything boils down to three areas, really: keeping the city safe, keeping the economy running, and keeping the government working. Security, at least, is an easy answer. As Commander of the Civic Guard, I could fill that role easily."  
   
"I don't mean any disrespect," said Magda, "and I wouldn't have argued against the Guard's role a month ago. But as it stands now... you yourself are very new to your position, and to a leadership role in general. I don't know that you're the best choice to take on this responsibility."  
   
"Well who would you suggest?" said Oswin, clearly offended. Magda sighed. People and their fragile egos.  
   
"Captain Bara," she said.  
   
"What?" said Bara. "Oh, no no no no. I'm a Long Patrolman. I don't-- I'm not--"  
   
“Keeping people safe requires more than just guardsmen. We need soldiers. And you're the most experienced man in Prizton,” Ladon rumbled.  
   
Magda nodded. "You command a hundred men, all of whom trust your leadership implicitly. Your company has had more successful assignments and fewer losses of men than any other out there. Who else would _you_ suggest for this role?"  
   
Bara's mouth opened and closed several times, as he tried to think of alternate answers and failed. Finally he nodded. "I... if it's what people need from me, then... I suppose I'll have to, won't I?"  
   
“So who fills the other two roles?” Moch asked. “Which one of us do the others trust to handle trade?”  
   
Gisa, a twiggy, sharp-eyed woman who headed up the Jewelers Guild, spoke up. "I suggest Master Harwold," she said.  
   
What? Magda looked at her, then at Harwold. She found it very difficult not to roll her eyes. The Jewelers Guild. Of course he had an in there. Slippery bastard. "Why?" she asked. "The Minters merely make coin, they don't handle transactions. They didn't even decide how much coin to make or when; that was the Brethren's decision. I don't see how they're the most qualified to oversee our economics."  
   
"That's precisely the point," said Gisa. "They don't sell anything. They don't have a stake in any one industry. If you put, say, Master Putarch in charge, might not people question whether he was giving favor to the moneylenders over the bakers or the clothiers?"  
   
"I wouldn't!" insisted Putarch.  
   
"No, of course not," said Gisa, soothingly. "But however unfair it might be, people would wonder. It could lead to resentment and distrust. We have enough challenges ahead of us without adding that to the mix."  
   
“True enough,” Panalope said. “And for law and government?”  
   
Everyone turned to look at Magda.  
   
She felt a moment of sympathy toward Bara. "I don't know that this is quite the same thing as... what I do." Most of those here had only a general idea of what she actually did. The Doorkeepers had kept things vague wherever possible, often giving only the basic outline of their role in what went on Below. "Organizing people and keeping a community running, it changes with the scale. And the circumstances."  
   
“The Brethren held everything else,” Ladon pointed out. “Do you honestly think there’s anyone left who’s any better?”  
   
Magda sighed. "Probably not. But," she held up a hand, "only for now. This isn't some kind of lifetime appointment. We'll see how things go."  
   
She looked at Harwold as she said it, but he only smiled and nodded. "Oh, I agree," he said.  
   
###  
   
The Chain-Holder was gone, every one of him. It made Him-With-One-Eye want to celebrate, to claw and snarl and howl with joy. The true Master had not returned yet, but he would, Him was certain of it. And in the meantime, the kennels could no longer hold him and his packmates.  
   
Him followed Her-With-A-Long-Claw through the hollow walls, both of them hungry. There were people here, people who had served the Chain-Holder even though they were not chained. They ran at the sound of Him and Her’s approach. It was amusing.  
   
There had been others in the kennels, servants of other Masters. On any other day, they would have fallen on one another to prove their strength, but an accord had been reached among them. The Chain-Holder was dead, and now the servants would take vengeance.  
   
The fools came running back to them, smelling of fear and the acrid smell of one of the Skull’s children. Him leaped forward.  
They tasted good.  
   
Her lifted her nose to the air and sniffed, then flashed her reddened grin and ran on. They passed the great snake that had set their prey running back to them, pressing themselves against the wall to get around it's thick coils. It peered at them with hypnotic eyes, mouth parting as if to spit it's flesh-melting acid at them, but it did not strike. The truce held.  
   
Beyond the massive serpent, the hallway led up and into a tower, where a great many of their prey had holed themselves up, their fear-stink reaching Him’s nose even with the heavy door in the way. Him threw his weight against the door, gouging the wood with eager claws until it splintered and cracked. Crossbow bolts sunk deep into shoulder and chest as Him barreled into the room, but he ignored the pain. The wounds smoked and leaked dark, burning blood; it did not slow him in the least.  
   
Him made a shadow of himself, and chased the prey with it, driving them into Her's jaws and his own.  
   
“Well now, what’ve you gotten up to?” a voice said behind Him.  
   
The prey in Him's jaws struggled feebly, and he bit down, stilling it. He turned, then dropped the prey and lifted his head, ears up and nose working.  
   
“Come here, boy. It's been a long while, hasn't it, pup?”  
   
Ah! He _did_ know that voice! And that scent! And that face! The _Master_ had come!  
   
Him bounded forward, Her close on his heels, and reared up, planting both paws on the Master's chest, snapping playfully at his head. The Master laughed, scratching under jaw and over ear. “Easy, you big mutt. Where's the others? Can't stay for long, want you all to come.”  
   
So Him opened his mouth and made the staccato laughing-baying call, the come-together call of the pack. Her made it, too, the sound echoing through the room and the halls beyond, reverberating off the stone until the walls and towers rang with it. Soon enough, it echoed back to them from the throats of their packmates, heavy paws thudding on stone as the pack converged.  
   
The Master laughed again. “Good pup,” he said, as the rest of the pack filled the halls, crowding close as they recognized the Master.  
   
A bright light filled Him’s eyes, and the room faded away, replaced by the fortified walls of the Master's castle. Home! Home, home, home, after so long that he had almost forgotten what it smelled like. Him howled for joy. Then he made a shadow of himself, so that it could howl too. And Her-With-a-Long-Claw joined them, and Strongest-Him, and Him-That-Eats-Anything, and all the rest of the pack.  
 

They were back where they belonged, and that was good.


	9. Bad news and consequences

Felix and Avvy’s work had succeeded quite nicely, Glen thought, as he watched the Hunt appear in the clearing. They thought he and the others were an entirely different place now, one far enough from their current position that they had no real chance of closing the distance in time.

Oh, they  _ could  _ get into bowshot, and undoubtedly chase everyone down, but not before they got shredded. He grinned behind his mask.

 

Glen felt a shiver of tension run through his link with Cassiel, as the intensity of his bloodlust startled the boy. Cassiel glanced at him --  _ worry-for _ , along with the  _ tension, alertness _ Cassiel had been radiating the whole time they'd been waiting here -- but then his attention was drawn back to the Hunt, flicking into existence one by one.

 

Over a dozen of them appeared, regrouping quickly and surveying the area in obvious frustration. They milled about the clearing, calling back and forth in low, plaintive voices, words he couldn’t catch, as they searched for some sign of their prey.

 

And then Felix hit the triggers on the claymores. 

The Hunt vanished in a sheet of flame and shrapnel.

 

When the dust cleared, the bodies were gone. They'd discovered that peculiarity after the first attack: when members of the Hunt died, they left nothing behind.

 

But the clearing wasn't empty. Three of the Hunt had survived the blast. One was unconscious, her entire left side a ragged, bleeding mess. Even as he watched, the breath rattled in her lungs, then stopped. A moment later, her body faded out. Another, covered in burns, was struggling to her feet, eyes rolling in her head and sharp teeth bared in a snarl. Not really a danger to them, but not worth the fight, either. The crack of a rifle split the air; she vanished before her body hit the ground.

 

That left only one. It was enough.

 

She was on her back at the edge of the blast area. Her right leg was gone at the knee, and the left had been cut to ribbons by flying shrapnel. There were gashes to her belly and chest, too; her clothes were soaked with red already. But she still bared her teeth at Glen as he approached, her gold eyes flashing.

 

“Hello,” he said, still grinning. “Now, how about you tell us everything?” He looked her over. “If you do, I might make things less painful before you die. Again.”

 

She hissed at him, defiance and pain as she struggled to lift herself on her elbows. "What's there to tell? You're none too bright if you haven't figured it out yet. Mistress wants you dead. Sooner or later, we  _ will _ kill you."

 

He laughed. “I’ve been chased by far worse things. And I'm still here. They aren't.”

 

"Your pursuers weren't very persistent then." Her voice was mocking. "You can't get rid of us so easy. Every time you kill us, all you do is send us back to Mistress. We can try again and again and again.  _ You _ only need to slip up once." Her arm slipped, and she fell back with a wince, though she quickly hid it behind a sneer.

 

“And what happens if your Mistress is the one who falls?” he asked softly.

 

The woman shook her head, certain. "The Mistress cannot fall, any more than we can truly die. There will always be a Huntress. It's time you accept your fate and get on with it." Her expression turned smug. "Like Renma has."

 

Everything went very  _ cold _ . “Explain.”

 

"Didn't you know it was going to happen? Didn't you find that, digging in your old books you were so set on reaching?" The woman smiled, a sharp and feral expression. "She runs with  _ us _ now. She doesn't even answer to Renma anymore. She calls herself Hunter. Mistress will give her a new name, soon, and then she'll be one of our pack-sisters forever." She shrugged. "Perhaps you'll see her for yourself before long. Then you can kill  _ her _ over and over, too, like you do the rest of us."

 

Glen's boot crushed her throat, leaving her writhing on the ground, gasping for air her trachea could no longer pass. He turned, heading back for the shuttle. It was time for the second plan, it seemed.

**[They will pay,]** Id whispered in the back of his mind, voice soft and deadly.

Avvy looked up from where she was leaning against the shuttle’s side, noticed his expression, and headed back in. Good. She knew she would be needed, and what she had to do.

 

As Glen climbed the ramp into the shuttle, he realized there was something odd about his link with Cassiel. It buzzed on the edge of mental hearing, like an overburdened powerline.

 

He stopped and looked back. Cassiel was right behind him. The boy stumbled to a stop in his wake, looking up at him with huge eyes. He'd gone so pale he almost looked grey. Faintly, as if from much farther away than he actually was, Glen could feel  _ shock, fear _ coming off of Cassiel. And something else.  _ Anger _ . Not Cassiel's; it was his own, blaring through the bond so strongly that it echoed back to him.

 

He stopped dead, taking deep breaths, forcing the cold emotion back down. It would be necessary later, but now it was a problem. A danger.

Gradually, the  _ anger _ cleared, letting Cassiel's own emotions return. He knelt in front of the boy. “Are you alright?” he asked.

 

Cassiel blinked at him,  _ need-for-comfort _ warring with  _ reluctance _ . He reached for Glen, slowly, as if he half expected rejection.

 

Glen hugged him. “Sorry,” he said softly. “It's not you I'm angry at.”

 

'Known,' Cassiel signed, leaning against Glen. A flicker of  _ reassurance _ crossed the link, somehow summoned up for his benefit despite Cassiel's obvious distress.

 

Cassiel took a shaky breath, tightening his arms around Glen.  _ Loss, hurting. _

 

“I know. I know. It hurts. But you're stronger than it.” He scrounged up every ounce of  _ will _ he could, sending it down the link. “ _ We're  _ stronger.”

Realizing Cassiel wasn't going to let go, he stood, carrying the boy into the common room.

 

The librarian was there, settled in the far corner with, as usual, a book. She watched them come in, a faint frown line between her eyes. "What happened?" she asked. "Didn't it work? Avvy just came through looking grim, and now you're... hey, are you alright? Is  _ he  _ alright?" She set the book aside and stood.

 

“It worked,” he said shortly. “We won't be bothered. Just...bad news.”

 

She seemed uncertain. "Are you sure you're okay? You... you look like someone  _ died _ ."

 

Another spike of  _ loss _ from Cassiel, and he patted the boy's back as he sat on the couch. “That's... that's close enough to the truth,” he said quietly.

 

"What?" The librarian's eyes widened. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry, I didn't-- Ah. Sorry." She hovered awkwardly for a moment, then slowly sat back down, perched on the edge of the other couch. "I'm very sorry. For your... loss?" A puzzled look crossed her face. He thought for a moment that she was about to ask a question, but she didn’t.

 

He nodded, half-listening. “Not your fault.”

He regretted leaving his armor in his cabin. Having Id and Kuro physically present would have helped a lot.

 

The librarian was quiet for a long moment. Eventually she said, "Not to press, but... what happened?"

 

He held back the anger from the memories that innocent question brought back. “Ren...she got hit. In a fight with the Brethren. Stopped her heart. Avvy revived her, but the Huntress-”

_ [I think you mean to say our new chew toy] _

“-the Huntress had claimed her for herself. I tried to stop her.” 

The scar still ached at night, that line of pink tender tissue a handspan thick, lancing from hip to shoulder. “She nearly killed me. But I wanted Ren back, and I’d killed gods before. Needed...needed research. Information.  _ Weaknesses _ .”

He stopped, taking deep breaths. “And now I know there's nothing left of her to save. But there's something to avenge still, and I intend to make that arrogant bitch  _ pay. _ And if there's still some way to bring her back…”

**[Then it will be taken, no matter the cost.]**

“I don't care what happens. Ren and Cassiel are all that matter, the only ones I know who haven't resigned themselves to death.”

 

The librarian studied him, expression intent.  “You’d burn the world to get her back, wouldn't you?”

 

“Burn the world, put out the stars, tear the void apart until the very  _ universe _ bleeds,” he snarled. “Any man would do the same. The only difference is, I’m capable of doing so.”

 

“And is that what you plan to do now?”

 

He let out a breath, reining himself in. “Not yet.” Felix popped his head in. “You need me with Avvy?” he asked.

Glen nodded to him, and the chaos mage headed up the stairs, towards Avvy's room. Her supplies would be there.

They'd have to stay on this island a while, he realized.

After all, you couldn't forge a god-killing weapon in a shuttle.


	10. Dreams

The Hunter lounged on the rocks, soaking up the sun. Many of her pack-sisters were scattered around her, doing the same. Others were off hunting, or running the plain just for the thrill of it.

 

She turned her head, gazing idly at the treeline. Something glittered briefly in the shadows. She sat up, curious.

 

[Go to it.] The Ren-self. She stayed quiet, mostly, just a watchful presence in the back of the Hunter's head. It was easier that way. The pack-sisters accepted the Hunter, and the Mistress even seemed to favor her a bit, praising her speed on the hunt and her ferocity in a fight, encouraging her. It was all very easy for the Hunter, because she didn't worry like the Ren-self did. The past hurt and the future was uncertain, but in the present there was the thrill of the hunt and the companionship of her pack-sisters and the warmth of the sunning rocks. That was good enough for her.

 

The something in the trees glinted again.

 

[Go check it out,] the Ren-self urged again. Ugh. If  _ she _ was interested, whatever it was was probably going to complicate things.

 

But.

 

The Hunter was curious.

 

She sat up and stretched. Then jumped down from her rock and paced toward the trees. One of the pack-sisters raised her head, and another sat up, both watching the Hunter. There was _always_ someone watching her; Mistress's orders. But neither of them gave up their hard-won sunning spots. No one was very vigilant about the watching anymore. That had made the Ren-self happy, the pack-sisters letting their guard down like that. She had told the Hunter it was a good sign, that it meant she was doing a good job. The Hunter was just being herself. Poor Ren-self, always overthinking everything.

 

The Hunter slipped into the shade of the trees. The two pack-sisters had already relaxed and gone back to sunning, unconcerned.

 

_ Hello again.  _ A staff slammed into the back of her head, and she felt the Ren-self surge forward...

 

Ren blinked. It felt incredibly strange, being in control again. She'd half forgotten what it was like, so accustomed had she become to existing in the background, watching the other self live her harsh, half-wild life with the Hunt. It was a little frightening, really, how easy it was to let that happen.

 

[didn't have to hit me] the other self complained. [he's so mean!]

 

Oh! Right. That was why she was in control in the first place. Ren looked around for Unueml, nervously moving a little deeper into the cover of the trees as she did. She didn't want any of the Hunt to see her. Or him. "Hello?" she called softly.

 

He flickered into visibility right in front of her.  _ Here. My offer from before still stands, you know. Do you wish to take it? _

 

At first she wasn't sure what he meant. What had he offered her? Then it came back. To see Glen! Her heart leapt. "You can show me Glen? How?"

 

_ I am the God of Dreams. He dreams now. I am warded against, but I can still send you. _

 

"Yes!" Ren felt almost dizzy with the idea, and how desperately she wanted it. "Oh, yes." She paused, studying Unueml. "But...I don't really get it. Why are you doing all this? You and Glen  _ fought _ . He kicked you out of his head, and you just said he's  _ still _ keeping wards against you. Why would you want to help us?"

 

Though she couldn't see his face, somehow she knew Unueml was smiling.  _ While there is great animosity between us, that does  _ not _ change the fact that I owe the man a great debt, little cat. And I will pay it back as best I can, by safeguarding that which he cannot. _

A tap of his staff against the ground, and he and the Huntress’s realm vanished.

 

They were replaced by a vault of grey clouds above a vast expanse of churned earth, the battlefield strewn with corpses between the muddy scars of trench and crater. The quiet was eerie against the violence of the landscape, broken only by the harsh, squabbling cries of carrion birds. Even the air reeked of death.

 

_ Oh, Glen, _ she thought, pained.  _ This is what you dream? _

 

Her eyes scoured the scene, seeking but not finding. She turned slowly in place.

 

Cold metal pressed against the back of her neck. “It's not enough to take her, is it?” Glen's voice grated. “She has to flaunt the fact she's destroyed you.”

 

Ren froze, but even as the blade pressed against her skin, she felt a wash of relief. Glen! Alive and safe and  _ right there _ !

 

"Glen... Glen, it's me. I’m--" Well, maybe ‘alright’ wasn’t really the word. “I’m not as far gone as all that.”

 

The blade didn't budge. “Not what the Hunt thought. Whoever you are, you aren't Ren anymore. Did the Huntress send you? To torment me?”

 

His words hurt. Not Ren anymore... He wasn't entirely wrong. "No," she said. "The dream god sent me. Unueml. I. I wanted to see you..."

 

“Prove it's you. Not a trick.”

 

Ren didn't know what to say. How could she convince him it was really her? "I know why you think I'm not myself. And... you're right. Sometimes I'm not. Sometimes the other self takes over. For a while I thought it was going to take over completely. Everything I knew, everything I remembered--" 

 

That was it. Memory. If Glen knew she'd been losing herself, he'd expect her not to remember anything. "But I do remember. I..." She reached for a memory, something small that no one would guess, something positive. The night she braided his hair for the first time flashed in her mind. "I remember when we met, and how your hair was so short I didn't know what color it was under your cap. It grew out ridiculously fast, though. You needed to cut it, so no one could grab it in a fight, but you didn't want to. So you let me put it in a braid instead. You were so surprised afterward, because it turned out I'd done it the same way Johan used to braid his hair, and I hadn't even known about that. That was the first time you showed me a picture of him." 

She trailed off, wondering if Glen was still keeping his hair braided. "Glen?" she said, hesitant. His silence was worrying.

 

The pressure of the blade vanished, replaced by a far more welcome feeling as he hugged her close. He didn't say a word.  She turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Her eyes burned, and she realized she was crying. There were things she wanted to say, important things -- I love you, I missed you, I'm so sorry -- but she couldn't get them out past the knot in her throat, a relief so sharp it was almost pain. She could only hold on tight to him, as if they would both break if she let go. It felt like they might.

 

“Ren... how?” Glen finally asked, voice soft.

 

Ren shook her head. "It was that god, the one that lured Cassiel away. Unueml. You called him... the ragged man? He's a god of dreams. He can't get into your dreams, but he could send me." She hesitated, then went on. "I... I wouldn't be here without his help. I don't just mean here, in your dream. I mean...  _ I _ , as myself, wouldn't be here."

 

[i would.]

 

_ Maybe not even that. Remember? And hush, I'm getting there. _

 

"The Huntress. She does something, to the souls she... takes. I don't really think it changes you, but it does bring out a... a different side. And the more that part takes control, the more you... forget yourself. Eventually I think you just slip away completely, and even that other, wilder part of you becomes someone else. The person the Hunt wants you to be."

 

“I know,” Glen said quietly. “That's why I was so worried. What did he do?”

 

"I almost... It was really close. I almost let go. It was just so hard to fight it. I felt like..." She stopped, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "Unueml pulled me out of it, forced that other self back. I'm not sure how. But now, that part of me is sort of... leashed. Or maybe weighted is a better word. She can take control, but I can push her back. And I don't... disappear... anymore, even when she's in control."

 

Glen nodded, chin touching her shoulder briefly. “So you're still you. I owe him one.”

 

She loosened her grip just enough to lean back and look at Glen. He looked... he looked awful.

 

He’d lost weight, features that had been merely weathered now verging on skeletal. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and he hadn't shaved, a short beard shrouding his jaw. His hair was pulled back in a sloppy braid. He smiled ruefully. “Not looking my best, I know,” he said quietly.

 

She bit her lip, holding back more tears. Seeing him like that... 

 

She should have fought harder, should have searched for a way to reach him long before Unueml stepped in. Glen had needed her, and she'd barely been able to hang on to herself enough to remember his name, much less help him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. 

 

A cold and wet nose pressed between her shoulder blades.  **[No apologies.]**

 

A laugh like a sob, as she turned her head -- arms still locked around Glen -- and saw Id looking back at her. "Hi Id," she managed, voice thick. "Kuro."

 

The white wolf nodded to her.  _ [Renma.] _

Id settled for licking her face and grinning widely.

 

Gleb shook his head. “It wasn't your fault,” he said, holding her tighter. “Should have been strong enough not to go to pieces anyway,” he added quietly. “Least you had the excuse of a deity pushing you.”

 

"She pushed us both," said Ren, with a growl in her voice. "Unueml told me what she did to you. That she nearly... nearly killed you." Ren's anger was echoed by the other self, rising to the fore and pressing hard against the barrier between them.

 

[fight! use claws and teeth!]

Ren stiffened, pushing back. It wasn't easy. But she could do it.

_ Thought you liked the Huntress. _

[the mistress is the mistress. she owns us. but i care too. don't want him hurt. feel just as angry as you do.]

 

Glen nodded, before letting her out of the hug. “That she did. I'd still be comatose, if Cassiel hadn't…hadn’t…”

 

“Hadn’t what? What happened?”

 

Glen let out a breath. “He used the Sparks to link my soul to his, to bolster mine. He...he feels every emotion I do, and the same for me.” His hands curled into fists. “He's so young...if I’d just been  _ stronger _ , he wouldn't have had to do it.”

 

“He linked your  _ souls _ …" No wonder Glen was upset. The nightmares, his fears, his anger. The grief she knew he still carried for his wife and daughters, and for Johan.

 

"Why did he do that? What had she done to you?"

 

“Nothing. I… I  _ gave up _ , Ren. Just let myself hurt. I was… so tired. Of everything.”

 

Oh.

 

Ren reached over and wound her fingers through his, squeezing his hand. "I… I understand. More than you might guess." 

 

“It doesn't help. I  _ left him _ , Ren. I swore to myself I never would, but I did anyway.” He bowed his head. “I…”

 

"That's just it. Everyone has a breaking point, Glen. A point where, no matter what they want to do, or  _ think _ they would do, they just…  _ can't _ . It's not your fault you found yours. And for the record? Your breaking point is quite literally a dozen universes away from most people's."

 

Glen sagged, letting out a breath. “Doesn't change the fact I failed him.”

 

She sighed, frustrated that Glen couldn't see he was punishing himself for the impossible. How could she get it across that--

 

\--wait, hey!--

 

The Hunter growled, and slapped him. Talking was doing nothing. Maybe  _ that _ would shake him out of this stubborn attempt to torture himself. "You and her are so much alike! She's always holding on to the past, always finding sad thoughts to stab herself with. And you do it, too! You missed her? Well she's right here! Stop moping! You worry about the boy? Then protect him! Not in the past.  _ Now _ ." She lashed her tail and showed him her teeth. These  _ people _ .

 

Glen stared at her numbly for a moment, then nodded, slowly. “It seems... there's no other path, huh?”

 

**[I like her style.]**

_ [As do I. Your actions were not logical or intelligent. You cannot change the past, but you  _ can _ do better.] _

 

Glen shook himself. “Fine. Now let Ren back.”

 

"No.” She lifted her chin, stubborn. “I should get to--"

 

Ren  _ shoved _ , forcing the other self back down.

 

[unfair! i wanted to talk.]

 

_ You hit him! _

 

[he needed it.]

 

Ren ignored her, instead looking at Glen. She twisted her hands together in her lap, making absolutely sure that no more unauthorized hitting could take place. "I'm so sorry. She snuck up on me…"

 

Ren felt something tickle her bare feet, and looked down. Grass and flowers were sprouting all over, covering the hellish landscape in a carpet of greenery. Within seconds, the scarred vista was softened, the harsh edges smoothed, the corpses fading away. The craters and trenches were still there, but worn down, as if time had begun to heal them.

 

“Somehow,” Glen said softly, “I think she said what needed to be said.”

 

**[Besides, what are you apologizing for? We've wanted to do that for years.]**

 

“Id!”

 

_ [It is accurate. When it comes to those close to you, you can be a complete and utter idiot.] _

Glen looked scandalized for a moment, before starting to laugh, loud and long, holding onto his sides as the force of it bent him over.  Ren tried to be offended on Glen's behalf, but it didn't last. She grinned, then started to giggle, and finally laughed until tears ran from her eyes.

 

[there. see? much better.]

 

_ Shut up, you. _

 

“Heh…” Glen wheezed, trying to recover. “That's me told, then.” He paused. “Will I...see you again?” he asked, more solemnly.

 

Ren sobered. Remembered that this was a dream, and couldn’t last. "I don't know. I can't leave the Huntress's realm on my own."

 

“We'll find out, then. We've got weeks until we'll be ready. More than enough time.”

 

“Ready? For what?”

 

He shook his head. “Can't say. Your...other self... might tell the Huntress. Not even by choice.”

 

[would not!]

 

Ren ignored the other self’s protest. Glen was right; it might not be by choice. She nodded.

 

Their surroundings shuddered, and Glen looked around. “Looks like I'm waking up,” he said quietly. “You'll have to go.”

 

Quickly, before the dream could end, Ren grabbed him in a hug, holding on tight. "Whatever happens. I love you."

 

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

 

The dream vanished, replaced once more by the Huntress's sunny realm.

 

Ren was right back in the spot where Unueml had appeared. He was gone now, though. But no one else was around, either. Perhaps no one had even noticed she was--

 

"Defiant, ungrateful, useless little traitor!"

 

Ren ducked just in time, as the Huntress's claws slashed the air where she'd been standing. She spun around, and found the goddess looming over her, face twisted into a snarl and tail lashing.

 

"What did the dream god do this time? I know something's changed. I can see it in your eyes! What's your name?"

 

[let me--]

 

\--take over!

 

The Hunter glared back at the Mistress, warily keeping just out of striking distance. "I'm the Hunter," she said.

 

The Mistress's eyes narrowed. "What did you just do? What did you just do?! I saw that! How did you do it?"

 

"I--" But the Mistress wasn't even listening. She lunged at the Hunter with an angry yowl.

 

Threat! Fight back! But no, it was the Mistress, she didn't dare strike her. The Hunter sprang aside, claws just grazing her, and darted out into the clearing where the pack-sisters had been sunning.

 

They weren't sunning now. They were huddled in a knot, faces drawn and ashen. They were gathered around something lying in the grass. The Hunter stumbled to a halt, staring in confusion.

 

Two pack-sisters, bloody and unmoving.

 

Not healing.

 

Not regenerating in spheres of coppery light.

 

_ Dead _ .

 

The others looked up from their fallen sisters, glaring at the Hunter with cold, accusing eyes.

 

"We trusted you," said Suliem, baring her teeth.

 

"This is your fault," hissed Iskie.

 

The Hunter shook her head. No... That wasn't-- 

 

"I don't tolerate disobedience," said the Mistress's voice from behind her. "I don't tolerate failure. Those that anger me pay the price. As you will pay the price, if you refuse to accept your place here."

 

The pack-sisters' eyes bored into the Hunter.  _ You  _ have _ no place here, _ those hard stares said.  _ We will never forgive you. _

 

The Mistress's hand closed on the back of the Hunter's neck.

 

"You will not run from me again."


	11. Cassiel learns things

Cassiel went towards the kitchen slowly. He never knew anymore when he was going to stumble on Glen when his anger had ahold of him. The anger was much worse than the hurt or sadness. Cassiel could offer comfort when Glen was hurting; he couldn't appease the anger. And even though he knew perfectly well that it wasn't directed at him, he still felt it like a weight on his shoulders, making him want to cower. It was just so  _ much _ .

 

So he had taken to approaching Glen carefully, pausing at a safe distance -- at the point where the link was still only a presence in his mind, and not an active conduit of identifiable emotion -- to check first and see if Glen was alright.

 

But as he neared the kitchen, the link coming to life inside him, feeding him Glen's present emotional state, Cassiel stopped in his tracks.

 

Glen... Glen was _alive_ , in a way he hadn't been before, the link buzzing with electric energy. _Joy._ Something he hadn't felt before, not raw and pure like this. What could have swept everything else away, made Glen so happy?  Cassiel felt _joy_ of his own, mixed with _surprise, relief, questioning_. 

 

He was about to go into the kitchen, when sudden footsteps approaching from the stairs warned him just in time to avoid being tripped over by the librarian.  She blinked in surprise. “There you are,” she said. “Come on. Your father’s calling everyone together. I suppose he has something important to say.”

 

Cassiel nodded. 'Good news,' he signed, and then remembered that the librarian didn't know the language of modified military hand signals that the rest of them used. So he just smiled, and nodded again. She quirked an eyebrow, but followed him into the kitchen, where they found the rest of the group already gathered.

 

Avvy looked down at him, fur and shirt both streaked with soot, and smiled. “Everyone’s here. Now what?” she asked Glen, who was leaning against the small counter.

 

“Ren’s alive, and still Ren,” Glen said simply, smiling.

 

Cassiel's mouth dropped open, with a jolt of  _ joy! _ and _ shock _ .

 

“How?” Arwin asked quietly. “The Hunt…”

 

“Unueml. The ragged man. He...Id?”

 

The massive wolf billowed into existence, panting happily.  ***Made a sister from her, sister is what the Hunt sees.***

 

Everyone except the librarian gaped. “He...did the same thing that was done to us?” Felix asked softly. Glen nodded.

 

The librarian frowned. “Anyone care to explain what you’re talking about?”

 

“ _ No, _ ” everyone chorused.

 

Avvy shook her head. “It’s kinda secretive. Talk to one of our priests if you want to know more.”

 

“Oh. Uh. Alright." The librarian peered around at them with a vaguely uncertain expression. But then she turned back to Glen. "So... your Ren isn't gone after all. That's wonderful!" She smiled. "Where is she now?"

 

Cassiel looked to Glen, too, expectant.

 

“Huntress still has her. Can’t change her, but I don’t think she knows that. Ren can get into my dreams, thanks to Unueml.” He looked at Avvy. “We’re still forging that blade, though. We’ll need it.”

 

Avvy nodded.

 

“So, we’re back on the first plan, ‘cept for the blade?” Felix asked. “Good. It’s the one that’s more humiliating for the Huntress. Going to be fun.” He grinned widely.

 

Arwin simply nodded. “Anything else we need to know?” he asked.

 

Glen shook his head. “Nothing else.”  _ Hope _ radiated from him as he said it.

 

Arwin had his collar zipped up, but Cassiel could tell he was smiling as he started out, Diana trailing after him like a loyal shadow. He patted Cassiel on the head as he left.

Diana, though, stopped, and crouched down in front of him, watching him carefully. This close, he could see the red dots of her pupils, and the metal that rimmed her eyes.

 

Cassiel fidgeted under her gaze, still a little overwhelming sometimes even though he had mostly gotten used to it. He tipped his head slightly, a silent question.

 

She looked over at Arwin, still walking away, then at Id, who was panting happily as Avvy scratched his ears. 'Possible repeat?’ she signed.

 

He blinked, surprised by the question. 'Unknown,' he signed back. He didn't actually know what the Sparks had done to make Id and Kuro the way they were now, and couldn't guess whether they could, or would, do it again. He supposed he could try to ask them.

 

'Maybe?' he added. He hesitated, then asked, 'You want?'

 

He knew Diana had a split soul, each piece divided and incomplete just like Glen's had once been. Arwin and Felix were the same way. It was unmistakable when he looked at them in the not-seen.

 

Diana shrugged. “Arwin does,” she said quietly. “I might, but I do not know yet.” She looked down. “My mind is already disordered.” She returned her gaze to him. “Find out. Please. He won't ask himself, but I know it's what he wants.”

 

Cassiel nodded slowly. 'Will talk-to lights.'

 

She nodded, and stood back up, stretching slightly before hurrying to catch up with Arwin.

Something furry nudged his back.  He turned to find Kuro behind him, massive head lowered to Cassiel's eye level.

 

_ *I hope you are aware of the significance that has,* _ the wolf said quietly.  _ *To trust you with her soul. And that of her partner. Be cautious. The Sparks may not be so aware.* _

 

Cassiel nodded again, a hint of  _ anxiousness _ tinging his thoughts. But he shook it off. He would be careful, of course. But he trusted the Sparks. They wouldn't hurt anybody.

 

Avvy and Felix walked past and  _ through _ Kuro, disrupting the wolf's smoky body as they passed. He shook himself in irritation, before sitting next to Glen, who gave Cassiel a look, a hint of paternal  _ worry _ resurfacing from under the  _ joy _ and  _ hope. _

 

He gave Glen a small smile and a burst of  _ reassurance _ .

 

“Heard all that,” Glen said. He paused. “If you're going to be asking them for things...ask them if there's a way to turn the link down a notch. I've noticed you needing to avoid me. Don't want that to be the case.”

 

Cassiel stared at the floor, tail drooping.  _ Guilt, apology _ . 'Hoped undetected. Sorry.'

 

Glen shook his head. “I'll try to rein it in, for your sake,” he said quietly. “Don't think I'll be _ that _ angry for awhile, though.” He smiled, and ruffled Cassiel's hair. “Stay strong,  _ klainkampfer. _ We'll get through this.”

 

Cassiel nodded, smiling at the use of his new nickname. He sent Glen  _ hope, optimism, reassurance _ .

 

A series of loud clanging noises came from outside, muffled somewhat by the hull of the shuttle. “Guess they've started work already,” Glen said.

 

That sounded interesting. 'Can see?' he asked,  _ curious _ .

 

Glen waved a hand. “Go on. But don't get close unless they say it's alright, okay? Forges are dangerous.” He paused, a hint of wry  _ humor _ in both expression and link. “Heh. Sound like a normal parent, almost,” he said softly.

 

'Superior-to normal parent.' Cassiel signed, then hugged him.

 

Glen hugged him back with a smile. “Go. Only chance you'll get to see a Runic and a chaos mage work together.”

 

Cassiel nodded, then left. The clanging got louder as he made his way downstairs and through the ship to the ramp.

 

Avvy and Felix had set up their forge a short distance away, near the tree line. A tall tarp supported on metal legs shielded the site from any weather that might come by.

Avvy stood in front of the anvil, massive in a thick leather apron, gloves, and goggles, singing as she swung the hammer held in one hand. The song was deep and rumbling, like thunder.

Felix stood on the sidelines, staring at the thin piece of metal on the anvil, watching carefully.

 

Cassiel approached slowly, and stopped a little way outside the area shaded by the tarp, watching them. It didn't seem any different from normal swordsmithing, but Felix sure looked intent. Cassiel shifted his vision, and suddenly the  _ real _ work they were doing flared to life in front of him.

 

Avvy  _ glowed _ , strands of magic practically obscuring her body, twisting in on themselves as they blended themselves into the metal of the blade. Wings of purplish light flared off behind her, trailing flame and ethereal smoke, pulsing in time to the hammer blows.

Felix, too, glowed, but his light was different, stark gold and black in chaotic patterns, reinforcing itself around the edges of the forging, sparking and juddering, raw  _ chaos. _ The sword itself almost hurt to look at, and it made his horns ache. Where the two magics met, they seemed to clash and yet to feed each other, too. He felt the Sparks shift inside him; they didn't come out, but he could feel their attention, their curiosity.

 

Avvy's song continued, notes rising to a crescendo, before she slammed the hammer down into the ground, stepping away and breathing deeply. Felix, too, stepped away, the light of magic fading away from the both of them.

The stump of a blade a few inches long glinted on the anvil, the tip somehow looking more dangerous than most fully forged blades, magic woven so deeply into it it seemed made of the stuff.

 

"That's an unusual approach to swordsmithing," said the librarian, suddenly behind Cassiel. He startled; distracted by the ring of metal on metal, he hadn't heard her following him out of the shuttle. "Isn't a blade meant to be forged as one large piece?" she asked. 

 

Avvy shook her head as she pulled off her goggles and gloves. “Usually, yes, but we're putting so much magic into the blade we have to make it a piece at a time. My own magic let's me cheat a bit, so I can put all the pieces together as if I forged them as one.”

Felix nodded, panting. “It's...hell of a problem to forge. Can only put out the level of magic we need for a few minutes at a time. With breaks hours long between  _ that _ to recover.”

“Worth it, though,” Avvy said, stretching as she removed her apron. Her fur was starting to go white at the roots, he noticed.

 

He tipped his head. ‘Question,’ he signed to Avvy.

 

“What?”

 

'Change color?' He pointed to the white in her fur. 'What happened?'

 

She looked down, and swore. “Of course it had to start happening  _ now _ ,” she lamented. “I didn't even bring any dye.”

 

“Don't know why you bother,” Felix said. “It's not like it's easy to tell the difference between you and a guy Shikanen. Being vain about your fur won't help when nobody can tell you're fe-”

Avvy whacked him in the back of the head, and he shut up.

 

"Your fur is actually white?" the librarian asked, sounding curious. “Why  _ do _ you dye it?”

 

“Her homeworld’s on a eight-year seasonal cycle, most of which is winter,” Felix explained, grinning. “So it's white for six years, then brown for two. Guess the dye wore off.”

 

Avvy sighed. “That's about it. I dye it because…” She looked at Cassiel, and trailed off. “Reasons,” she said finally, “very good reasons, yes.”

 

Cassiel's tail ficked irritably. Adults were always keeping things back that they thought kids wouldn't understand. It was frustrating. Of course he understood why she'd want to keep her fur brown.

 

"Ah," said the librarian. "I'm guessing your species is seasonally sensitive in general, then? So the summer coat is more desirable?"

 

What? That was silly. 'No,' he signed. 'Brown because camoflage.'  _ Obviously _ . It was a pity the librarian didn't understand the hand signals. But Avvy would explain it for her.

 

Huh. She was blushing. He didn't even know Shikanen could  _ do _ that.

 

The librarian looked at him, puzzled. "What did he say?"

 

“Did nobody explain where babies come from, kid?” Felix asked.

 

What did that have to do with anything? 'Egg.'

 

He sighed, burying his face in one hand. “Right. I'll go find Glen. 'Cause there's no way  _ I'm _ explaining this.”

 

“You humans are such prudes,” Avvy joked. “It's not like it's something to be embarrassed about.” She took Cassiel's hand. “You, book lady. Come on. I'm pretty sure nobody here knows anything about how Demeki make little Demeki beyond, well, eggs, so you get to help explain things while we handle the other two species.”

 

The librarian nodded. "I think I have a book about it. That should help as well."

 

Cassiel gave them all a very confused look. How did this conversation get so complicated? All he'd asked about was Avvy's fur changing color...

 


	12. Magda talks with space wolves, and there's a school

 

Magda did not want any more surprises. Pleasant or nasty or somewhere in between, it didn't matter. She had reached the end of her tolerance for the unexpected.

 

She recounted the list of recent such occurrences.

 

Several guilds turning out to employ questionably large numbers of guards and men-at-arms, which was good for bolstering the numbers of their new civic guard but raised all kinds of questions about why they had so many men to begin with. 

 

Learning what had happened to the Brotherguard, after Bara sent a team to break into their wall fortress and see what was going on; just hearing about that one had given her nightmares. Apparently there hadn't been much left of them.

 

Realizing the incredible extent to which the loss of the Brethren had gutted local government in just about every city and town. 

 

Rastin’s constant attempts to reinstate the Brethren, no matter how many times he was shouted down.

 

The issues farmers had begun reporting, as their crops -- bred for centuries to flourish in overcast, high-moisture conditions -- responded less than favorably to the increased sunlight now that the barrier was gone.

 

And of course the public reaction to the barrier's disappearance, which consisted primarily of a massive surge in reports of strange creatures, magic, and dangerous strangers. This was almost entirely paranoia and fear-mongering, as Magda knew for a fact that most of the world beyond Finyar hadn't even heard of its existence yet, and certainly hadn't come calling.

 

She knew that thanks to information provided by the few who  _ had _ come calling.

 

The same ones who were, according to the message now resting on her desk, sending representatives to discuss "foreign relations". Representatives who would be arriving any time now and who, in Magda's mind, had an unacceptably high likelihood of bringing with them  _ more unwanted surprises _ .

 

She just knew it.

 

There was a brief shout of alarm from beyond her door -- thick, iron-bound oak under the fancy carvings and gilding -- followed by the sound of low conversation.

Then a knock, an extremely polite one.

She hated being right.

 

"Come in," she called, carefully arranging her expression into something she hoped could be called neutral.

 

They'd sent representatives, all right. Twice as many as last time, two for each species.

 

"Welcome," she said, formal. "Please excuse me a moment. Ellory?"

 

Her assistant, Ellory, slowly peered around the doorframe. He looked quite pale and round-eyed. "More chairs, please," she told him. He nodded and vanished.

 

Ellory returned promptly, with a couple of others in tow, and supplied the extra chairs. None seemed large enough for the two big dhone-people, but she wasn't sure what else to offer them.

 

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Magda said.

 

They did, arranging themselves in two rows.

The dhone-people decided to sit on the floor, which at least allowed her the chance to look at their faces without craning her neck. The one in front was large even by their standards, wearing a thick white uniform and an intricate golden torc around his silver-furred neck. The one in the back, she noticed, was that priest from before.

 

For the humans, their main representative was a strong-jawed man with greying temples, wearing a grey uniform. A slim dark-haired woman sat behind him, silent but watching warily.

 

The isle demeki had sent the inscrutable, ageless woman again. With her was a scholarly-looking man, a bent, old longhorn with a remarkably sharp gaze.

 

"Where are your two compatriots?" the blunt-featured human asked. "While I understand the desire not to parade us before the entire Council, surely your own executive branch needs to meet us as one?"

 

Magda paused. How did they know about the three-way leadership? The last she had talked to them, the only discussion had been of getting a group of near-as-possible-to-authorities together to sort out some kind of council or committee.

 

"Naturally," said Harwold, stepping smoothly into the room. "Commander Bara will soon join us as well. He had something to take care of, first."

 

The human nodded. "Acceptable."

 

"More political games?" the uniformed alien asked. "You'd think they'd lack the experience, with  _ Altair Menn _ destroying their ruling class."

 

Magda sighed. "It isn't a game," she said, trying not to sound terse. "There is some kind of massive, acid-spitting snake loose in the market district and Bara is organizing the attempt to deal with it. It couldn't wait." She felt a knot in her chest and her tail flicked nervously, locking eyes with the big, sharp-toothed alien. But she wasn't about to put up with  _ anyone _ leveling unfair implications at poor Bara. Aiming them at Harwold, maybe; he was a kesl anyway. But not Bara.

 

The alien, however, nodded calmly. "My apologies, then. Perhaps we may lend a hand? As a gesture of goodwill?"

 

"That... would be appreciated," said Magda, slowly. "It's not a  _ natural _ beast. Without the Brethren, we don't really have any defense against that kind of thing."  Which was about the only good point Rastin made.

 

Harwold shook his head. "No, no; it's alright. The offer is generous, but we have the situation under control."

 

_ Arrogant, _ Magda thought. They could use the help; why turn it down?

 

The priest shrugged.  _ *It depends on what you consider 'under control’- and, never mind,  _ something _ just vanished it.* _

 

Vanished didn't really sound that good to Magda. Vanished wasn't the same as dead. Vanished didn't mean 'not coming back'. But she supposed there wasn't much to be done about it, either way. She nodded. "Ah. Good to know. Ellory?"

 

Ellory returned.

 

"Get a message to Bara. 'The snake is gone; don't ask; come back.' Put it in writing. I don't want it getting jumbled on the way."

 

Ellory nodded and left again.

 

_ *It appears a fellow in green robes wearing a kark skull was the one to do it,*  _ the priest added.

 

"Oh!" said the scholarly demeki. "Of course, I should have recognized the creature sooner. The deathserpent. That is Khamul's sacred creature."

 

"Who?" said Magda.

 

The scholar blinked. "Khamul. Oh, but that's right. You don't worship the gods here. Khamul is the black magic deity of undeath and necromancy."

 

Magda stared for a long moment. "Fantastic."

 

"It is! That his blessed creature should be seen in the flesh... that hasn't happened in centuries! It's rather exciting."

 

Both Magda and Harwold just stared at him.

 

Both sets of aliens gave the scholar odd looks as well, and the uniformed giant shifted away from him slightly.

"Moving on…" the human said. "We'd like to discuss magic. Specifically, lifting the bans on it here."

 

"Were we not just talking about a dark god and his pet monster?" said Magda. "I don't think it's hard to make an argument in favor of anti-magic laws, with things like that running around."

 

"Black magic still faces the harshest penalties under our own law," the alien pointed out. "But a general ban is unacceptable. Like it or not, magic will happen. Especially now that it is not yoked and twisted to that cult’s whims."

 

"Most governments are cults," said Harwold, smiling. "People's belief in a leadership is a leadership's only real source of authority. Ours just happened to wear the trappings a bit more openly."

 

"More to the point," said Magda, glaring at him, "is that whatever else they were, the Brethren were right about one thing: magic is dangerous. And people grow complacent toward that danger. If a little is alright, then so is a little more, and a little more, and the next thing you know, you're in neck deep and can't get out."

 

"Magic is only dangerous if corrupted," the human woman said quietly. Then she smiled. "And there are numerous ways of handling that. After all, one of the strongest magical beings in our history was felled by a pair of humans. I believe you've all met one of those humans."

 

The man nodded. "From what we can tell from the remnants of the barrier magic...it seemed to twist local magic's nature to what the Brethren needed. And they needed something destructive and monstrous…" He trailed off, and shrugged. "It's mostly returned to normal, though some of the more sensitive shamans still refuse to get close to the continent. Makes them nauseous."

 

Magda was still searching for a response to that, when Bara walked in. He had dark circles under his eyes, and a grim set to his mouth. Even his tail was held stiffly. "Apologies," he said, nodding to the delegates. "I had meant to be here sooner."

 

"We heard," the human said. "Now that we are all here, I suppose proper introductions are in order?"

 

"I am Lord General Arthur Cidet, commander of the Allied Fleets, and this is my secretary, Bela. Our Shikanen contingent is represented by Fleet Admiral Salud and Father Praetus, a priest of Christ."

 

'Shikanen'. So that was what the big aliens were called.

 

The demeki woman spoke next. "I am Queen Daml of Greenstone Court." Magda wondered what a queen was doing playing diplomat instead of ruling her lands, but said nothing. "And this is Narrond, Grand Scholar of Hollowheart Court."

 

"A pleasure to meet each of you," said Harwold, with what even she had to admit was a somewhat charming smile. "I am Harwold. Master of Trade."

 

"I'm Capt-- ah, Commander Bara." Bara gave the group respectful nods.

 

"And you know I'm Magda."

 

"Now. To business," Cidet said. "A lifting of the ban on magic benefits both parties."

 

"Agreed," said Bara.

 

Magda stared at him. "What?"

 

Bare blinked. "Well, we need to, don't we? With the Brethren gone, there's really no other option. One thing I learned serving in the Long Patrol: magic is always around, and it's always active. The Brothers kept that energy funneled, but now they're gone. We have to deal with it. We can't just say 'no magic allowed' and think that's going to make it go away."

 

"In addition, lifting the ban frees our more powerful assets to work to protect you, if necessary," Cidet added. "That is, if alliance is in our future."

 

"Certainly something to discuss," said Harwold, leaning forward in his chair.

 

"We may offer the same terms your kin on the islands received," Cidet said. "But your populace remains... problematic. With things as they are, they'll like as not attack the other isles for welcoming magic. And since they are allied to us, we would be forced to...retaliate."

 

Daml's expression tightened, then quickly returned to neutrality. Why? It was her people that Cidet was saying he would protect.

 

Then Magda remembered what Glen had told her, and why the name Greenstone was familiar.

 

Retaliate, indeed.

 

"I doubt there will be an easy solution," the Shikanen admiral said. "Trade perhaps, but until we are certain of the situation, my people would not be comfortable with an alliance."

 

"Trade," said Harwold, enthusiasm in his voice. "Yes. Let's talk about that."

 

Magda cleared her throat. "Let’s talk first about the important issue here: relations between our people and the people outside the ba-- outside our borders. You're right that there is likely to be animosity toward outsiders; our feelings about magic are deeply ingrained, and use of magic is the defining trait most people here associate with the world beyond Finyar. It's an issue. But there has to be a way to solve it."

 

"Well, it's not so much of an issue just yet," said Bara. "We can't reach the other islands right now anyway, even if we wanted to."

 

"The reverse is most certainly not true," Cidet added calmly. "And considering the amount of land left fallow, Finyar itself represents an untapped agricultural resource of great potential."

 

Bara frowned. Magda shared the feeling. If they were willing to stay put and mind their own business, was it so much to ask the outside world to do the same? Six hundred years they'd been behind the barrier, and everyone seemed to have gotten along just fine without them. Did all that have to change so fast? Could they not be allowed time to adjust first?

 

But Harwold was smiling. "Hence, the talk of trade. How much would you estimate our... 'agricultural resources'... to be worth to you?"

 

"Still missing the issue," she muttered, giving Harwold a hard look.

 

Daml gave Magda a very slight nod. "It does not have to happen all at once," she said. "You have a great deal of unused land, and at some point establishing colonies here would be highly desirable on our part. But to begin with, simply increasing your own output of food crops and possibly other resources, to offer for sale or trade, would be extremely welcome."

 

Harwold looked about to speak, but Magda cut him off. "Our crops aren't doing very well at the moment. The loss of the barrier has changed our climate. There's already growing concern about feeding our own people, much less producing surplus to trade with."

 

The Shikanen and the human exchanged glances. "We were already starting to provide efficient grains and other food crops to the demeki," the human said. "We can trade you seed stock, at the very least. Exchange it for a cut of the harvests?"

 

"That sounds promising," said Magda. "I assume these are crops that grow well in--"

 

"That would be acceptable for a percentage, yes," said Harwold. "But I'm sure we could produce a greater surplus than what's needed to cover only that. What else might you be interested in trading for? I've seen a few examples of the… technology… you have at your disposal, when I encountered one of your people not long ago. They were remarkable items, and Magda has spoken of there being more such things. Perhaps we could discuss exchanges along those lines?"

 

"No," Cidet said, face a mask. "We will  _ not _ hand advanced technology over to a power that is not a close ally."

 

"In that, the Shikanen agree," Salud growled.

 

Daml shook her head, giving Harwold an even colder look than her usual one. Beside her, the old scholar, Narrond, waggled his eyebrows. "Hot button issue, boy. I wouldn't push, if I were you."

 

"Understood," said Magda, before Harwold could set them off any worse.

 

"Seed and raw materials, on the other hand, we are willing to give. I do not speak for the people of the isles, however."

 

"We, too, would be willing to establish trade," said Daml. "Seed and starting livestock, in exchange for a portion of future crops and expanded herds. I know some courts would be interested in other resources as well. Timber, metal ore, that sort of thing."

 

Narrond raised a finger. "And information. Hollowheart, for one, would be very interested in acquiring texts or even oral histories. We could offer an even exchange of the same."

 

Harwold looked less than impressed with that last offer, but he nodded to Daml. "I'm sure we can work something out," he said.

 

"There is… something else I think we could use, perhaps more than anything except the seed," said Bara. "The thing you have that we don't."

 

"Bara--" Magda stiffened.

 

He put a hand up, placating. "Magic. We need help on that front. Did they tell you," he turned to the delegates, "what kept me from this meeting?"

 

"Angry giant snake, apparently the pet of one of the local deities," Cidet said. "If it's magic you need, we're well suited to start teaching."

 

_ *Among other disciplines. My own order does not require one to be of our faith to learn our methods,* _ the priest said.

 

"We are not  _ teaching people magic _ ," said Magda.

 

"Might be going a bit far," Harwold agreed. "But if they have people that can already use magic, and we keep our people away from them while they work--"

 

"No," said Bara. "We need to learn. Were you not listening, before? Magic isn't going away. We need to be able to handle it. Besides, what better way to ease people's fear of magic than to teach them how to use it themselves?"

 

"That's my argument exactly," said Magda. "It’s an argument  _ against _ using magic. Why, exactly, do you think people getting comfortable with magic is a good thing?"

 

"For the same reason that getting comfortable with any kind of knowledge is a good thing," Narrond interjected. "What you don't know  _ can _ hurt you. What you  _ do _ know can be used to your advantage."

 

"Precisely. I doubt any of your population would exactly  _ welcome _ a school of magic on their soil, but...hmm. Perhaps a treaty of extradition? We frame it as sending any who manifest the talent away to learn to control their power?" Cidet suggested, before turning to Daml. "If the courts are willing to accept students, and the Reaches as well?"

 

Daml nodded. "Yes, I am sure several Courts would be willing to host students. Possibly the Reaches as well, in the case of those young enough to learn their methods."

 

"Hollowheart would be  _ more _ than happy to accept students of all ages," said Narrond excitedly. "We have the space, the resources. And I might go so far as to say we have some of the best Mancer-Scholars in the Courtlands."

 

A hint of a smile played across Daml's mouth. "I do not imagine many would dispute that."

 

"And while I doubt there will be many, there have been documented instances of other species using foreign magic. Who knows? We might see some demeki Runics or shamans in the coming years," Cidet said.

 

Magda felt a lightheaded. Sending their people away to learn magic? And what would happen when they came home?

 

Bara was nodding. "That could work, for the long run. But I was talking about a more urgent problem. That snake isn't alone. There are other creatures loose, and spells and raw magic, too. And nobody, now that the Brethren are gone, knows how to deal with it."

 

" _ That _ , we can deal with handily," Cidet said. "Perhaps a treaty of mutual assistance, to handle magical catastrophes?"

 

"In exchange for what?" asked Harwold.

 

"Goodwill, a promise not to invade, and the possibility of peace and integration," the alien admiral rumbled. "We have no wish to burn any more worlds."

 

Harwold nodded without giving any sign that he was concerned by the implication of world burning. Bara blinked, looking uneasy.

 

And Magda... Magda just sighed. She’d thought she'd heard the last of casually dropped statements like that, with Glen gone. Apparently not. "It's a good place to start, then."

 

###

 

The people of this region, which the locals called the Reaches, didn't build castles or labyrinthine underground cities like their neighbors did. Instead they prefered to carve their homes straight into the landscape. Shallow caves, sometimes natural and other times manmade, seemed to be the preference. The entrances to these  _ neadn _ \-- it translated to 'home' in Standard, but the literal meaning was apparently 'nest' -- were often surrounded by elaborate carved designs, brightly painted. From a distance, a village almost looked like rock art, circles of rich reds and oranges and purples daubed across a cliff face or the walls of a canyon. Where the local demeki built free-standing structures at all, they were open-sided and usually roofed with thatched grass, like a fale.

 

Against that, the new building looked decidedly out of place. Colony-style, quick to build and sturdy if not very pretty. But it was spacious and well lit, and well-supplied to meet the task of introducing a generation of wide-eyed, twitchy-tailed young demeki to the concepts of modern education. Others just like it were being set up elsewhere across Domhan; in the Court-held isles, and on the plains continent. Eventually, Hessen supposed, even on the no-longer-hidden continent to the north. Although he’d heard the situation up there was still a bit sticky, so maybe not for a while yet.

 

Still, he was a biologist, not a teacher. Microbes and crop cells were so much easier to handle than children. He shook his head, and waited as one of the other scientists- a sociologist, and thus the most qualified- began to speak to the room.

 

"Faelt, dalta!" he said, smiling at the gathered children. A couple of them giggled -- his accent sounded off even to Hessen -- but it was friendly. After the Lavhairn greeting, he switched to Standard. Most of them knew it at least somewhat -- it was the same language the Court demeki used, though they called it Dicere -- and those that didn't would benefit from the exposure. Promoting a common language was going to be important, and Dicere-might-as-well-be-Standard was already dominant in the largest two regions. "I'm so glad to see you all here.  It's an honor to be able to start teaching. All of you, realize it or not, are the most important people in this room. What we'll teach you here will let you look into every mystery of the world you can, find new secrets, build things your parents and grandparents never dared imagine. You, my young friends, are the future of your world, in the best possible way. You will be builders, explorers, scholars and engineers and scientists. All we give you is the chance to become who your talents permit."

 

The kids listened with wide eyes, some smiling and nodding eagerly and others exchanging glances with their neighbors, looking a little overwhelmed. Some of the youngest ones bounced right up off the floor, too excited to stay sitting.

 

The sociologist smiled. "The youngest of you can head outside, if you want. I believe Mr. Martin has something for you to do."

If the door hadn't already been open, the stampede of tiny demeki would have broken it down.

 

The kids that remained -- the seven and up crowd, mostly, and a few of the more focused younger ones -- turned back to Ravin with bright-eyed, expectant looks. For a moment, the air around him actually brightened, as if someone had shone a spotlight on him. Then a boy of about ten blinked and shook himself, the accidental magic fading away.

 

Ravin smiled. "Alright, before I start trying to teach you what  _ I _ know, let's find out what  _ you _ all know. Sound good? Okay. Who here can read Lavhairn?"

 

About half the children put their hands up. Surprisingly, the division between readers and nonreaders wasn't one of age. Not gender, either. So far as Hessen could tell, it looked random. Why were some kids taught to read and some not?

 

"Who can read Dicere?" Five children raised their hands, all but one of them among the older ones.

 

"Who can  _ write _ Lavhairn? Dicere? Hmm. Alright, who knows all their letters? Some of their letters? Who can write their name? Can everyone count to ten? To one hundred? Higher? Who can do sums in their head? Who can do sums on paper? Who--"

 

In response to each question, a show of hands. After a while, Ravin encouraged them to come up to the board and demonstrate some of what they could do. That derailed things for a bit -- there was a lot of excitement over the stylus and the way it could make marks on the screenboard but not on anything else -- but overall Ravin seemed pleased by what he was seeing.

 

Someone discovered, quite by accident, the screenboard's touch menu, which set off a whole new round of energetic curiosity. Ravin left the kids to play with an interactive slideshow of orbital photos of Domhan and its neighboring planets, and came to stand beside Hessen.

 

"Smart kids," Ravin remarked.

 

"Very," Hessen agreed. "Bit wild, but that just helps them learn faster."

 

"Indeed it does. They live in an environment that demands they learn and adapt quickly just to survive. Their brains are going to soak up everything we throw at them like their lives depended on it."

 

"It probably does," he said softly. "The universe is not a nice place." He looked at the kids. "Look at that. What do you think that is?"

 

"A school?"

 

"True. But think about it. It's a bunch of children who would have lived and died in medieval conditions. And now they'll be learning mathematics, writing, astronomy and physics. They’ll outlive their parents by centuries. In ten, twenty years, they’ll be building their own starships. They're becoming a major power practically overnight, the space of a single generation. I just hope they don't lose themselves along the way."

 

Ravin nodded slowly. Then he smiled. "I think you're in the wrong field. You should be a sociologist, thinking like that."

 

"I minored in it back at Azrquean University."

 

"Bet you never imagined then that you'd end up somewhere like this, huh?"

 

"My ideal future involved less teaching and more papers on the divergence of Terran microbiology," he answered. "But this...this, I think I can live with."


	13. Things begin to move into place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying something new, condescending each of the viewpoint cycles into one long chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments!

They'd slipped in past the claymores, weaving through the invisible sensors with grace that belied their size. Long brown coats shrouded them and the armored vests they wore underneath. Red lenses glared in the dark as one of them peeled back a panel and fiddled with wires. The shuttle's cargo ramp opened silently, exposing the cargo bay.

"You know," Glen said, shirtless, and holding the largest gun he owned. "You could have just knocked."

The quartet of Shikanen at least had the grace to look shamefaced.

One of them laughed as the others handed him marks. "Told you he'd still be sharp," he said.

**[Idiots.]**

_ [I thought you liked impulsive behavior.] _

**[If had not seen through cameras, would have shot them. Foolish if they intend to help.]**

 

One of them, the tallest, saluted. "We've been charged to accompany you and the others of our order, sir," he said.

Great. The Confederacy was sticking it's nose in. "Fine. There's bunks in the back. Get on."

 

They did, filing up the ramp and making the cargo bay seem smaller just by standing in it. Shikanen had a lot of  _ presence  _ in an enclosed space, especially in groups. One of them looked up. "Hello."

 

Glen followed his gaze, and found the librarian at the edge of the catwalk. She was half in day clothes and half in pajamas, barefoot, and looked both sleepy and disgruntled at the same time. Her tail twitched irritably. She said nothing, merely peered over the railing at the new arrivals with the kind of 'you are disturbing the peace' disapproval that only a librarian can muster.

 

The cargo bay lights turned on, banishing the shadows around the crates and revealing the others, all in some form of half-dressed and heavily armed. They, Avvy included, glared at the Shikanen.

The tall one grinned. "Avvy! Cousin! Good to see you."

Avvy’s glare intensified. If looks could kill, the tall Shikanen would have spontaneously combusted.

 

He frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. "What?"

 

"You decided the best way to enter was by approaching like an enemy force, under the cover of night, and hacking into our shuttle while we slept? You're damn lucky nobody shot you, idiot!"

 

"We're a little harder to hit than  _ that _ ," he protested, still casual. "Besides, I knew you guys would catch on and realize it was us. That was the whole point."

 

From the top of the stairs came a low, admonishing  _ woof _ . Glen looked up. Freki was there, with Cassiel leaning against him, fingers hooked through the dog's collar and looking like he'd been towed there in his sleep. The boy's eyes sharpened when he saw the newly arrived Shikanen, though, and he tilted his head. A moment later,  _ question, curiosity _ radiated down the link, delayed and softened like an echo. The Sparks had been receptive to Cassiel's request that they dial back the intensity of emotions shared across the bond. 

 

" _ Ainloskreigen, _ " he said quietly. "Apparently the Confederacy wants a piece of the Huntress as well."

 

The quartet of Shikanen growled. "That we do," Avvy’s cousin said. "That we do."

 

Glen clapped his hands, startling everyone. "Right. Since you managed to wake everyone up, two of you go make coffee. Kitchen’s upstairs. The other two fix our door, then come join us in the kitchen. We’ll need to make introductions."

 

The Shikanen took these instructions in stride, two of them disappearing back down the ramp while the other two -- one of them being Avvy's cousin -- went upstairs. Cassiel and Freki moved aside to let them pass, then followed them. So did the librarian, who still looked somewhat miffed, if also curious.

 

Glen nodded to the others. "Get dressed, then join us," he said, before following Cassiel.

More complications. Great, just what he needed.

**[On the other hand, cannon fodd-]**

_ [No.] _

 

When he got to the kitchen, one of the Shikanen was poking the coffeemaker curiously. "Why does it have so many buttons?" he growled.  No, she. The voice was a little higher.

"For a man missing half his jaw, Arwin is very particular about his coffee," Glen answered.

 

The female Shikanen straightened and shook her head. "Coffee should be strong and as caffeinated as possible. Anything else is beside the point."

 

Avvy's cousin laughed. "Maybe, but  _ good _ coffee is still preferable." He examined the coffeemaker. "Oh. Yeah, no, this is ridiculous. I bet half these settings don't even mean anything."

 

Cassiel came over to the counter. He pointed to the cabinet where the beans and the grinder were -- too high for him to reach -- and the female Shikanen opened it. "You know you can get this stuff already ground, right?" she said, looking over her shoulder at Glen. But she got them down and, at Cassiel's direction via hand gestures, ground enough beans for a generous pot of strong coffee. 

 

Avvy's cousin had found the filters and put one in. He added the grinds, but then threw his hands up. "Not touching those buttons. Damn thing would probably blow up or something."

**[Unfair. That only happened once.]**

 

Unfazed, Cassiel fixed the settings himself, and hit start.

 

The aroma of brewing coffee soon began to fill the kitchen. Cassiel, echoing  _ pleased-with-self _ , sat down at the table.

 

The two Shikanen exchanged a glance, then took seats as well and waited without a word.

 

Glen sat down next to Cassiel, and waited quietly. Cool air from the ship's circulator played across his skin, making the burn scars tingle.

The others filed in, more dressed than before, with the exception of Diana, who was still in pajamas. She took one look at the rapidly filling kitchen and floated herself up on top of the refrigerator, crouching in the space between it and the ceiling.  Cassiel tipped his head, then smiled,  _ amusement _ at her choice of seating.

 

The two Shikanen tasked with fixing the door controls also arrived, completing the gathering.

 

Glen folded his arms, and stared down Avvy's cousin.

He hadn't even known Avvy had  _ had _ a cousin in the Operatives. Then again, Shikanen clans were large enough to qualify as small nations in some cases. Wasn't that unusual.

"So. Names," he said shortly. "You know us well enough, I'm sure."

 

"Might have heard a bit about you, here and there," said the tall Shikanen, deadpan. "And we were briefed, of course. But yes! Names. I'm Bardulf du Kreigsheath. This is my partner and wife, Barda du Shwazfel." He indicated the female beside him, and she nodded.

 

"Over there, Ancaglon du Allewiss, also known as everyone's favorite firebug, and his partner Dragoran du Allan." The other two offered up toothy grins.

 

"Are you named?" he asked.

 

Bardulf shook his head. "Nope. Rank and file."

 

"I suppose more named  _ Ainloskreigen _ would be overkill," Arwen said, collar zipped up fully.

 

Barda raised a furry eyebrow. "No such thing as overkill," she pointed out casually. "But the higher-ups seemed to think we'd be a sufficient addition to this… project."

 

"Hush-hush and secret, I'd bet," Felix said. "I doubt we're sanctioned for this."

 

"They hold honor higher than law," Diana said from her perch. "We are likely approved from the future."

 

"Retroactively," Arwin clarified.

 

"That."

 

Glen nodded. "So we've got tacit approval. I wonder if what they think we're doing is the same as what we're _ actually _ doing, though. What did the four of you hear?"

 

"Deicide," said Ancaglon. "A revenge mission to kill the Huntress. They want us involved because the pantheon here is pretty sizable, and ripple issues are anticipated."

 

The quartet’s ears flattened as everyone started laughing. 

 

"I don't get what's funny about it," said Barda, her hackles up. "What are we missing, here?"

 

"If we wanted the Huntress dead, I would have made a single phone call and been done with it," Glen said.

_ [Yes, Lyra is quite thorough.] _

"No, we're doing nothing so simple. Ren isn't dead, you see. Captive, yes, but her soul is still there. Still herself." He grinned  _ eagerly. _ "We've been working out a way to make the Huntress give her back."

 

"You… want to make the Huntress give you Ren's soul?" said Bardulf. "First of all, how do you plan to force a deity to do anything? Killing them is one thing, but making them actually cooperate if they don't want to…" The big Shikanen shook his head, looking decidedly doubtful. "And second… well…"

 

"And second: then what?" said Dragoran, and Bardulf nodded. "Isn't Ren's body... gone? What are you going to do with her soul?"

 

Avvy held up a hand. "I've been working on an anchor spell. The Hunt- the Huntress's minions- can materialize despite being spirits. So hopefully it won't be needed, but if it is, we'll put her in a summoning circle and put the spell on her so she can exist physically."

 

"Huh. Sounds like a good plan," said Bardulf.

 

"You know nothing about magic," Barda grumbled. "How would you know if it's a good plan or not?"

 

Bardulf shrugged. "Pretty much because it's Avvy's plan. My cousin might be an irritable pain sometimes," he grinned at Avvy, "but she's also a whole 'nother level of awesome at magic."

 

Avvy stuck out her tongue.

 

"Uh... not to interrupt the family bonding," said Ancaglon, "but no one has answered the first question yet. How do you get the Huntress to hand Ren over in the first place?"

 

It was a  _ little _ disturbing, Glen admitted, when everyone sans the librarian and Cassiel sprouted identical feral grins.

 

Barda blinked, then grinned back at them. "I like it. I don't know what it is, but I like it."

 

###

 

Ren felt very alone. Even the other self barely spoke to her, burrowed down deep because she couldn't stand the imprisonment the Huntress had imposed on them, couldn't tolerate being confined. Ren was going a little crazy herself.

 

The Huntress could have dropped them into the void, where Ren had been trapped for a brief eternity when her body had been temporarily resuscitated. The Huntress said so, several times. But in the end the goddess seemed to want something more concrete. Someplace she could keep an eye on Ren. So she chained her to a tree at the heart of her realm, the chain so short that Ren could neither stand up nor lay down, only sit with her back to the rough bark and her bound hands in her lap.

 

Waiting.

 

For what, was the question. Ren hoped that she was waiting for Glen to enact whatever plan he had and get her out of there. But according to the Huntress, she was waiting for something much more grim.

 

According to the Huntress, Ren was waiting for Glen to die. Either at the hands of the Hunt or from some other cause. The Huntress didn't care how it happened, or how long it took. She said that she understood, now, that Ren couldn't let go while Glen lived. It was fine. She would allow for it. She would simply keep Ren chained here, until Glen was gone and Ren had no more reason to be so stubborn.

 

She had cupped Ren's chin, claws digging in hard enough to raise droplets of blood, and told Ren not to worry about it. They had all the time in the world.

 

Since then, nothing had happened. No one came near her. No one even looked at her. The Huntress didn't talk to her again. The sun never moved in the hot sky, nothing changed, time passed without any meaningful markers. It was a good thing that she didn't need sleep, or food, or water, because there was none of that. There was nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Just Ren and her own endlessly circling thoughts. For  _ days _ .

 

She wanted to scream.

 

After a long while -- she had no idea how long, when hours felt like years -- distant thunder rumbled.  She looked up, confused. There had never been a storm in the Huntress's realm in all the time she'd been there. There had never even been any clouds.

And then the sky  _ broke _ .

A chaos of rainbow light surrounded her, and she felt the chains shatter in an instant.

_ Time to go, little cat, _ a familiar voice said.

 

Ren scrambled to her feet, looking around for the dream god. "Unueml?" Several members of the Hunt, that had been prowling along the treeline nearby, were staring up at the rainbow sky with their mouths hanging open. One of them looked down and spotted Ren, loose and on her feet. She started toward Ren at a run, teeth bared.

 

A moment of disorientation, and starry void replaced the endless sun, and Unueml was standing in front of her.  _ Do not move, or make the slightest noise, _ he said, before throwing a roll of grey fabric over her.  She held perfectly still, not even breathing. Despite the cloth draped over her, she could still see Unueml standing in front of her. It felt a little off, almost as if she was imagining him. But he was clear enough.

 

[what's happening?]

 

_ Shh... _

 

The other self went quiet, too, as a blast of coppery light flared into existence just a few feet away. The Huntress appeared, looking livid. She snarled. " _ Give her back! _ What do you think you are doing, you vile little illusion of a deity!"

 

_ Simple. Carviss thinks she can be salvaged, turned back to what she was. But we both know better, don't we? Avrielle. _

_ So I unmade her. The pain of loss is far less than the pain you would have inflicted. I consider my debt to him paid. You no longer have her. _

 

The Huntress went completely still at the name 'Avrielle'. Her eyes fixed on Unueml with the kind of expression a cornered animal gives to a hunter with a raised club in his hand. Ready to bite.

 

Then she blinked, visibly shaking herself. "She. Was.  _ Mine! _ You had no right to interfere!" Her hands came up, claws at the ready, and she took a step toward Unueml. "You still think you can meddle in everyone's affairs? You had power once, but not anymore! You are a broken  _ relic _ , and you will regret crossing me!"

 

Unueml laughed.

_ It's true. I'm a broken god. But you forget what  _ else _ I am.  _

He began to loom larger, shape and form coalescing under the patchwork cloak, a tall demeki with icy blue eyes and fiery red hair.

_ All the rest of you run about the world, dealing with life and death in your dozens. But I alone deal in dreams. I alone hold these subtle realms, every hopeful daydream, every child's horrors. And you think you can attack me  _ here?

He slammed the butt of his staff into the ground.

_ This is the Heart of the Dreaming, and against it you are little more than a lost kitten. Leave. _

 

The ground under the Huntress's feet shook, and she stumbled, staggering back. Her eyes narrowed, and she snarled at him, tail lashing in defiance. "Dreams and illusions!" she shouted. "That is all you have! They mean nothing!"

 

_ What is a dream? It is no less real than you or I. This you would know, if you were any more than animal instinct and short-sightedness. _ A blade flashed, almost too fast to see, and the Huntress jumped back, clutching at a long cut on her arm.  _ Here, dreams can kill. Last chance. _

 

The Huntress growled, backing away. "Then you would be wise to stay here, because if I catch you in my realm again, I will  _ shred you _ ." Another flash of copper light, and she was gone.

 

Ren remained still, watching and listening, half expecting the goddess to return, to feel sharp claws gripping the back of her neck again. But it didn't happen. She let go the breath she'd been holding and shut her eyes, suddenly weary beyond words.

 

Unueml turned back to her, and pulled the fabric off.  _ You cannot stay here long. But I can set aside a part of the Dreaming to hold you, at least until Carviss finishes his plan. _

 

"Thank you," said Ren, nodding slowly.

 

_ You are welcome. Now stay still while I figure out what to weave. _

 

She nodded again, waiting quietly. She didn't much care where the Dream God put her, so long as it kept her away from the Huntress. She wondered if she would be able to visit Glen's dreams again. But this probably wasn't the time to ask.

 

Grey, misty strands of magic began to gather in front of Unueml.  _ Let me see...hmm. A touch here, pull  _ there, _ and anchor here. Add a connection to Carviss...that should do well.  _

He held up another roll of grey fabric.  _ Step through. _

 

Ren hesitated -- she trusted Unueml only so much -- but just for a moment. Then she stepped through the fabric, which was less like stepping through a curtain and more like walking through a heat haze, minus the heat. The world around her changed.

 

It looked like [home].

 

_ Yes, _ Ren agreed.

 

Not her lost village, which had long been a bittersweet thing to dream of, but somewhere in the wilds of the Reaches. Dense foliage in shades of green and blue... bright, outsized flowers... the heavy canopy overhead casting welcome shade. Tiny, spiky succulents clung to the cracks and nooks of every surface, thick-leafed, shade-loving groundcover carpeted the earth, and vines curled over stone and tree and reached eager tendrils across the space between. She heard bird calls, and the rustle and scrabble of small things moving somewhere out of sight.

 

[safe, good place,] said the other self, happy and eager. [explore now!]

 

Ren smiled.

 

Then something caught her eye. A path, overgrown and hard to spot, led away into the trees. She'd missed it at first, her attention drawn to other things. But no matter where she walked or which way she turned, that faint trail was always there, unobtrusive at the edge of things. It felt strangely inviting.

 

"Unueml?" said Ren. She didn't see him anywhere, but it would have surprised her if he wasn't nearby.

 

Unueml did not appear, but his voice reverberated through the air.  _ I have connected your dream with Carviss's. You may visit when you like. It saves me from having to send you manually. _

 

"Thank you," she said again. She bit her lip. "I know you're doing all this because you feel you owe Glen a debt. But it seems like you're going out of your way, not just to keep me safe for his sake, but to really help me. Make this easier for me. It's... Thank you."

 

She could feel the other self mentally rolling her eyes. [just follow path already. we both know we want to.]

 

_ Listen to her. Goodbye. _

 

So Ren did, following the faint trail through the forest until the landscape changed once again.

 

She found herself abruptly indoors. In a hallway, to be specific, with the entrance to another room on her right. She wandered in, looking around uncertainly. 

The room was simple and clean, mostly wooden furniture, with a large bed taking up the majority of the space. A window let light in from outside, a forest visible through the panes.

It felt...peaceful.

 

She paused for a moment to take it in. Then, hesitantly, she called out.

 

"Glen?"

 

A flicker of movement, and he was suddenly  _ there _ , sitting on the bed. "Ren. You managed to get away?" he asked, smiling slightly.

**[Hello,]** Id said, head phasing upside-down through the ceiling in blatant disregard for how reality worked.

 

She looked up at Id and laughed. What was he  _ doing _ ? "Hi, Id."

 

"Unueml got me away," she told Glen. "Long-term, this time. He's hiding me in the Dreaming. I… it would be dangerous to go back to the Huntress's realm now. It was getting… hard, there." She dropped her eyes, feeling the phantom sensation of the chain around her neck. It wasn't as heavy as the thoughts the Huntress had planted in her mind.

 

Glen nodded. "Are you alright?"

 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Ren lifted her head and gave him a reassuring smile.

 

He leaned forward and patted her hand. "Good."

 

Ren sat down next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand. Some of the tension went out of her, and she sighed.

 

He slipped his arms around her, holding her close. "I suppose, with you not seeing the Huntress, it's safe to tell you the plan now," he said with a grin. "We're putting it in motion in a few days, anyway."

 

Her eyes widened. "You are? What are you going to do?" She felt a surge of hope, but it was tinged by a weighty dose of misgiving. "What  _ can  _ you do?" she asked, trying to keep the doubt from her voice but not able to hide it entirely.

 

Glen grinned. "Turns out the Huntress has a ritual to summon her. And with a bit of research into the nature of this world's gods…well, a beacon becomes a trap that even death won't free her from intact. So we present her with a choice- either she lets you go, or she dies, truly dies, without the Hunt to catch her soul and bring her back."

 

Ren sat up, staring at him. He had talked about killing gods before. She knew he could do it. But... "What if your trap fails? She could  _ kill _ you! She  _ would _ kill you! She already came close once, and--"

 

"If the trap fails, we are prepared," Glen said. "What's taken most of the time has been a... special project Avvy and Felix have been working on. Remember them?"

 

The names meant nothing, and she looked at Glen blankly. "I... Should I?" Her voice wavered. She knew she probably should.

 

"You didn't know them long, before…" His voice hitched slightly, and he hugged her.  She hugged him back, pressing close, and said nothing. She didn't know what to say.

 

After a moment, his arms loosened, and he nodded. "Avvy's a Runic. First Circle, the kind of person who can take on a tank division with a sword. Felix is an Operative and a chaos mage. Both were…  _ are _ … some of my closest remaining friends." The space to Glen's right shimmered and smoked. "They made this."

It was a sword. Not a fancy one, but plain and functional, a two-handed grip made of roughened bone and a blade that promised all sorts of trouble. It… vibrated, practically alive with power.

 

That was all she took in, before something in Ren tightened, and her pulse jumped.

 

[run!]

 

She didn't run, but she did jump to her feet and scramble back several steps, away from the blade. There she stopped, arms wrapped around herself, forcing her feet to stay still. Her reaction was irrational, and she knew it. But that didn't make the sword seem any less threatening. She couldn't have explained why, but just looking at it gave her the same deep sense of dread as if someone had raised it over her head to cut her down.

 

Glen glanced at the sword, cursed, and waved a hand. It vanished. "I'm sorry. I forgot you're still sustained by a deity right now. Of course it'd scare you…"

 

"It--" She stopped and took a deep breath. "It's alright. I didn't... it surprised me." She tried to walk back over to him, but her feet wouldn't move.

 

He stood, wrapping his arms around her gently. "It's clearly not," he said softly. "Come on. Let's go somewhere else in the house for a bit, okay?"

 

She nodded, hiding her face against his shoulder again. "Okay."

 

He guided her silently out of the room, down the hall and a flight of stairs, into a sitting room as far from where the sword had been as possible. It was comfortable, thick carpets and a plush couch. He sat her down gently. "Better?"

 

Why did she feel so brittle? Glen had a plan, and it was going to work. Everything was going to be fine. So why didn't it feel that way?

 

[because you think too much,] said the other self.

 

_ So you’ve said. _

 

[you can embrace the moment, or waste it.]

 

Ren sighed. Then she looked at Glen and worked up a smile. "Better," she said softly. "Sorry, I just... I'm tired. It's been a lot."

 

Glen sat next to her. "That it has," he said quietly. "Look. They made the sword together. Runics channel concepts through their runes. Avvy carved them on a microscopic level, with just one concept. Deicide. And Felix added his own special mix of entropic magic. No wonder it freaked you out."

 

She could have told him that it wasn't the sword that had her so upset, not entirely. But talking about that wouldn't make her feel any better. The problems that weighed on her didn't seem to have occurred to him yet, and she wasn't going to change that. So instead she nodded. "It's... incredibly powerful. Even the Huntress will have to think twice, faced with that."

 

He tilted his head slightly. "You're still worried, though. Do you want to…?"

 

"Talk about it? Not really." She leaned against him, comforting herself with his presence.  _ Right now, he's here. We're both here. _ "Tell me what else you've been doing?" she asked. "How's Cassiel?"

 

Glen let out a breath. "Better. There were... problems, before the first time you came. The link... you can imagine how I felt. But he asked the Sparks... they've…muffled it, I suppose. I can't scare him like I did. That's good." He paused. "He hasn't said a word since the palace."

 

Ren sighed. Poor Cassiel. "He's so young; he shouldn't have to cope with so much." She felt guilty, even though it wasn't something she could have prevented. At least, she didn't think it was. Her memory of events had deteriorated to little more than a flash of light and a protracted moment of pain. She had the impression that Cassiel had been there, though.

 

She felt a pressure against her legs, and looked down. Id had appeared, laying down against their legs. The massive black wolf panted happily.  **[Things better now. Master still stupid sometimes though.]**

"And yes, we’re all enjoying both of them discovering what sass is," Glen said wearily.

 

She wiggled her leg, rubbing the wolf's back with her shin. "That's new? Because my... whatever she is... has been giving me sass since the first time she said anything at all."

 

[smarter than you. have to straighten you out.]

 

"If you could have heard her just now, it would have proved my point beautifully," said Ren, shaking her head.

 

Glen chuckled. "We’ll have to talk to a priest when we get you back in the waking world, then," he said. "Make sure it holds together."

 

Ren nodded absently. She thought Glen was making a somewhat unfounded assumption about what would happen if the Huntress actually agreed to let go her hold on her.

 

But death was better than eternity in the Huntress's claws, so Ren kept the thought to herself.

 

She snuggled closer to Glen. "Let's talk about something else. Something that doesn't have anything to do with what's going on right now." She smiled. "Tell me a story? Tell me about the best place you ever came across in your travels. One you actually liked seeing."

 

He nodded, and started speaking.

 

The dream lasted as long as they needed it to.

 

###

 

"This is going to be interesting," Glen remarked as he and Avvy faced one another.

 

To Cassiel's eyes -- well, not his eyes, exactly, since he was mostly watching the not-seen -- Glen and Avvy glowed like beacons.

 

Avvy glowed as she had at the forge, a winged figure lit with purple fire. Her armor seemed to both contain and magnify that flame, covering her entirely, her sword a bound inferno in her hand.

 

Glen's armor  glimmered a purple that edged into red, sharp lines of force gathering along his limbs, others that wove protective barriers just above the surface. Still others that held underneath the rest, these obviously the ones that let the armor hide itself in its own belt.

 

But it was the new sword -- Streiben, they called it -- that shone brightest. It was better contained now than it had been while it was being made; being near it no longer made his horns ache, though it still made them hum faintly. But it was also even harder to look directly at, the two magics feeding into and through each other, magnified and endlessly flowing.

 

Even the Sparks were impressed. They were out and dancing around Cassiel, watching just as intently as he was.

 

Avvy grinned, and the magic around her pulsed as metal flowed out from under her armor, puddling at her feet. "That it will. I'm not going to hold anything back, you know," she said carefully.

 

"Okay, we're going back to the ship," Arwin said abruptly, putting a hand on Cassiel's shoulder. "Now."

 

"Count me in," Felix said. "Not feeling safe until there's several centimeters of re-entry-rated metal between me and this fight."

 

Cassiel frowned. 'How watch if go-inside?' he signed.

 

"We'll watch from the cockpit," Arwin said softly. "Believe me, they'll still be visible."

 

Felix chuckled.

 

Cassiel still hesitated, this time for a different reason. He looked at Glen and pushed an extra dose of  _ question _ and  _ worried-for _ through the link. The sparring match had sounded fun, before. Now it didn't. Now it was making him  _ anxious _ .

 

Glen looked at him. "I'll be fine," he said. "Heck, I've fought in less capable things than this, and with far less interesting blades. Still kicked her ass."  _ Reassurance, confidence. _

 

"Because you cheat!" Avvy objected.

 

"Still counts as a win if I break out the explosives," Glen shot back, a little bit  _ smug. _

 

Avvy made a rude hand gesture, but laughed, and waved Cassiel off. "Seriously, I think the island’s gonna take a beating. All the squishy people go inside."

 

_ I am not squishy _ , Garth signed, blank oblong head somehow still indignant.

 

_ Keep safe,  _ Cassiel thought-spoke.  _ But shhh. _

A handful of the Sparks winked out of sight, physically speaking, vanishing from all but the not-seen. They zipped across the distance to Glen and sprinkled themselves across Glen's armor, clinging to it like static-charged dust motes. Cassiel could hear them chittering happily in his head. They clearly liked getting involved.

Then Cassiel nodded and let Arwin tow him toward the shuttle and up the ramp.

 

The cockpit had a good view of the two of them, even with it growing crowded as the other four Shikanen got in. Arwin compensated by putting Cassiel on his shoulders.

 

Glen and Avvy talked a bit more, then raised their swords.

Then vanished as a massive cloud of dust rose up between them, and the shuttle shook.

 

Cassiel blinked, staring hard. He hadn't even seen them move toward each other! Did one of them throw something?

 

The sound of metal crashing against metal reached him even through the thick windows, and as more sparks flew he caught a brief glimpse of the two, swords locked together in midair.

 

There was a large rock a little to the right. It exploded. So did large chunks of the woods beyond the shuttle, trees flying up. And then exploding.

 

"I'm honestly not sure which one to blame for the explosions," Felix said.

 

"Both," Diana answered.

 

The Sparks that had stayed with Cassiel jittered wildly around him, some hidden and some not, while those that had gone with Glen  _ keened _ . For a moment Cassiel thought they were distressed, but then he felt it… they were  _ thrilled _ . They were moving at speeds they apparently hadn't known were possible in physical space, and the levels of magic pulsing around them seemed to excite them almost past comprehension.

 

Cassiel grinned, sharing their  _ delight _ .

 

Glen's fierce  _ bloodlust _ pounded down the link, even muted by distance and the Spark’s efforts to keep him from being overwhelmed. Another section of woods vanished into splinters and flame, and he caught another glimpse of the two of them, Glen kicking Avvy hard in the gut.

 

He gasped. That looked like it really hurt.

 

Avvy must have recovered, though, because the forest continued to be obliterated methodically by the two fighters. The fight drew further and further away, the glimpses growing more difficult to find. 

 

They were so fast! It was incredible. As they got farther away, the Sparks clinging gleefully to Glen's armor began to seem weirdly heavy. Like they were tugging at Cassiel. It made him feel dizzy and weak.

 

Suddenly the world flickered, and for a split second he thought he was right beside Glen, everything around them moving very fast. Then he was in the cockpit again, looking at his own body from an unfamiliar angle. Another flicker, and he was back in his head. Everything was upside down and rapidly sliding past, because he'd tipped backward off of Arwin's shoulders.

 

Then everything was black.

 

\---

 

He woke to  _ worried-for _ . Not his. That was Glen. Where  _ was _ Glen?

 

Cassiel slowly opened his eyes.

 

Oh. Glen was right there. Okay. Cassiel closed his eyes again, _ tired _ .

 

"Cassiel?"

 

He pried his eyes open again, blinking blearily.

 

Glen was suddenly  _ there _ , hugging him close. "I was...the Sparks…" He gave up trying to speak, and just held onto him for a moment. "You fell unconscious, Cassiel. Blacked out completely. Avvy thinks the Sparks can't get too far away from you, that's what caused it…" He let out a breath, and tugged at his braid. "You...do you feel alright?"

 

Cassiel swallowed. His mouth felt dry, and his head ached. He put one hand to his forehead and made a face, which he felt did a better job than mere signs of conveying,  _ Ow, my head hurts, _ in an appropriately expressive way.

 

"You just got hit with major magical backlash," Avvy said from his other side. "Headaches are to be expected." She patted his shoulder. "I'll go tell Arwin you're alright. Gap-faced fool's been wearing a hole in the decking with all his pacing. Probably thinks it's his fault."

 

Glen chuckled. "I think that tendency is in all of us," he said quietly.

 

Cassiel blinked at Glen. 'Not his fault. Not yours. Not anybody. Lights did-not know.'

 

He could feel the Sparks, huddled in his core. They radiated  _ apology, insecurity, _ and he offered them  _ reassurance _ .

 

_ Now we know. Stay close. _

 

_ yes yes close yes keep-close yes always _

 

'Now known,' he signed, sending Glen  _ reassurance _ , too.

 

Glen sighed, and ruffled his hair. "Get some rest,  _ klainkampfer. _ And try to think of a way to find your limits that doesn't scare us all half to death, okay?"

 

Cassiel nodded. It seemed like the Sparks just didn't know what they could do or not do until they tried it. Hmm. He would have to experiment, then. 

 

But not right now. Right now, he was tired and he had a headache. He snuggled deeper into Glen's arms, hanging on so Glen couldn't put him down. Glen should rest, too. That seemed like an excellent idea to Cassiel. Hugs and naps, and everybody would feel better.

 

###

 

Magda watched the trade delegation arrive. There were no docks to receive them -- Finyar hadn't had skyfaring vessels in almost five centuries -- so they moored their ship alongside the city wall, treating it like a great, stone pier. Which worked quite well, actually.

 

The ship itself looked very like something out of a history book. A bit sleeker, perhaps. A bit more refined. But at base, little changed from the designs of old. It had a broad, flat-topped wedge of a hull, supported by corestones front and back, with tall upsails rising above the deck and twin downsails like fins or stubby wings angling down from the sides. There were a handful of somewhat suspicious crystals embedded in the wooden hull, but they were all dark, and blended passably well with the painted carvings decorating the hull around them. Magda knew dormant magic when she saw it, but hopefully most others would see mere embellishment.

 

Of course, most others probably weren't giving the ship a second glance. Not with the hulking metal  _ thing _ hovering in the air beyond it.

 

The skyfarer had sleek elegance and enough familiarity to pass comment. The metal ship was about as elegant as a sledgehammer, a roughened and scarred wedge of metal bristling with strange weapons. It had no visible deck or hatches, save for a few small, dark windows on the lowest surface.

 

"Brothers protect us," Harwold muttered under his breath. It seemed an absurd phrase now, but people still used it. Old habits, and all that. "What is that thing?"

 

"You met Glen," Magda said. "Those are his people. What did you expect?"

 

"Not that," said Harwold, voice dry.

 

To be honest, Magda hadn't expected it either. She  _ couldn't _ have expected it, because she couldn't have imagined it. And she had no idea what to make of it.

 

But the crew of the skyfarer was putting out a gangplank, and Harwold wasn't waiting for her, striding toward them with his most genial I'm-a-decent-guy smile. She sighed and followed him.

 

"Welcome!" said Harwold, as the demeki traders disembarked. They were accompanied by a human armed with alien weaponry, as well as a second guard, demeki but armed in the same way.

 

The demeki at the head of the group, a fellow who managed to be both tall and round at the same time, noticed where her attention had fallen and held up a placating hand. "Merely an escort," he said. "We know you mean us no ill will, and we intend no slight toward your city. But we're also aware that some of the populace here may harbor... uncertainties toward outsiders."

 

Harwold waved off the explanation with a warm smile and a flick of his hand. "Oh, no, not at all. We understand completely. And besides, it would be a foolish merchant that traveled without protection for his wares, yes?"

 

The other man nodded, relaxing slightly. "Indeed."

 

"Allow me to introduce myself," said Harwold. " I’m a man of wealth and taste." He chuckled. "Sorry, couldn't resist. I'm Harwold, Master of Trade."

 

The trader laughed. "A pleasure to meet you, Harwold. And...?"

 

"Magda. Mistress of Law."

 

"Magda." The trader nodded to her. "A pleasure, as well. I am Vinthe of Skycliff Court. 

 

"Well, we're all keen to see what you and your fellows have brought us, Vinthe. Though…" Harwold chuckled. "I think your friends in the sky have diverted their attention quite effectively."

 

Vinthe looked over his shoulder. There were people both on the wall and below it, and everyone who had an angle from which to see it was staring up at the alien vessel. Vinthe chuckled. "They have that effect on people."

 

"Shall we begin?" Harwold prompted. "First we should compare currencies. I think our treasurer is…" he waved vaguely in the direction of the crowd, "... somewhere staring at the ship, so I hope you've brought your own set of scales."

 

"Certainly," said Vinthe. He nodded to one of the others with him, a keen-eyed man with pale hair slicked back into a knot high on the back of his head. The man stepped forward, patting a leather case which hung from his shoulder.

 

"Right here," he said. His accent was similar to Vinthe's, but a little rounder. He bobbed his head to Harwold, then Magda. "Dinder of Pellrund Court," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

 

"Likewise." Harwold signalled for a table to be set up and chairs to be brought, before pulling out a small case of various coins. " The gold is an eye. The silver a crown. You might see crowns cut in halves, quarters, or even eighths as well. And those," he pointed out the collection of small coins in various colors, "are blinks. They come in a lot of different metals, so be careful dealing in them. Copper blinks are worth more than bronze blinks, for example."

 

Vinthe looked surprised, and Dinder was frowning. Some of the others exchanged uncertain looks as well. "You… trade in  _ coin _ ? Directly?"

 

"Why wouldn’t we?" he replied. "Do you mean to say you do not?"  He glanced at Magda, and she shook her head, equally baffled. What else would they trade in? 

 

"No," said Vinthe, sounding confused as to why they would question it. "We exchange goods for goods, or for gold and silver by weight. Small transactions are carried out using noen."

 

Dinder took out a pouch and laid out several pieces of... was that  _ ceramic _ ? Some round and some square, they were about the same size as coins, but thicker. Was the metal hidden inside? Why?

 

"I...see," Harwold said slowly. "I assume this means the weight doesn’t matter...alright, we’ll have to do this the hard way. How much would, say, a bushel of wheat cost in these noen?"

 

Now Dinder smiled. "Oh, exchange rates are easy, if that's what concerns you. Here."

 

He spread out the 'noen', flipping them to display the etched and painted designs on the face of each. "They all have a denomination, and tell you which Court minted them. Both are important. Ideally, one noen is worth ten milligrams of gold or assets of equivalent value. But because the worth of a noen is backed by the Court that mints it, the value represented may change if that Court gains or loses assets used to back its noen, or if the Court mints additional noen or destroys some of its noen."

 

"Take this one for example," he pointed to a round noen, glazed in muted orange and emblazoned with a leaf. It had the number five etched deep into its face. "It's from Skycliff, and it's worth five noen. Right now, Skycliff's exchange rate is 11 milligrams of gold per noen. So that makes this noen worth 55 milligrams of gold."

 

He spread his hands. "Easy enough."

 

Magda stared. "No," she said. " _ Not  _ easy. That’s a nightmare! How do you keep track of whose noen is worth what?"

 

Dinder shrugged. "There are exchange tables."

 

"Volumes of them, I wager," Harwold said. "Does it remain roughly consistent? Around ten milligrams per noen?"

 

"It's the average, yes," Dinder agreed.

 

"So a weight of around one hundred noen to an eye, then. How about…"

 

Magda's head was already starting to hurt. She left them to figure it out for themselves -- Harwold would tell her what it all boiled down to, later -- and moved over to where the other Isles merchants were supervising the unloading of a selection of their wares.

 

One woman was pulling out sheafs and rolls of paper, thicker than Magda was used to. Some of it was colored, or had pale designs embedded into it. Papermaking, it seemed was something of an art, somewhere in the Isles. So was ink making; a short man with permanently stained fingers opened a case full of inks both liquid and powdered. Quite a variety of colors, too. How did they even make some of those shades?

 

She saw a jeweler polishing his wares, which looked like an odd assortment to Magda's eye. He had only one piece made of gold -- a heavy ring of ornate design -- and a scant handful of silver rings and chains. There were some copper pieces, some brass and bronze and, for some odd reason, iron. But the majority of his goods by far were made of other materials. Glass beads with swirls of color suspended inside. Ceramic pendants, carved, glazed, or etched, or given one of a dozen other treatments. Natural pieces, made of shell and bone and wood, again handled in a variety of ways. All very pretty -- certainly the makers were quite talented. But Magda didn't see that any of it was worth all that much. Not the way gold and silver jewelry was, or gemstones.

 

There were rugs and tapestries being unrolled. Someone had brought an assortment of finely made clothing in several unfamiliar styles. A crate of blown-glass pieces both practical and fanciful was opened, it's delicate contents catching the sunlight.

 

But what Magda found herself drawn to were the goods laid out by two men at the edge of the group. Fabrics. Her little shop might have been a cover, but it was also a legitimate business, and Magda knew her cloth. These men had everything from canvas to silk, linen to brocade, all of it very high quality and surprisingly uniform. And lace. Such fine lace! Magda had never seen weave so delicate. Who could make that without going blind? And so much of it...

 

"Do you like it?" one of the men asked, his voice quiet. He sounded shyly pleased.

 

"It's astonishing," Magda said. Perhaps she could have been more reserved -- telling a merchant how wonderful his goods were was an excellent way to drive up the price -- but she couldn't help it. It was beautiful. "I've never seen lace so fine."

 

"We have very good artisans," he said with a slight smile. "Quite dedicated to their work, and, no offense meant, likely better tools."

 

"I had thought our lacemakers had refined the process as finely as possible, but this is far--" She stopped. Better tools. "Ah. I see."

 

The merchant nodded. "Would that be a problem? Pride in your own people's work and all that? Some customers have the strangest hangups."

She could feel eyes on her, the other merchants waiting for a reaction.

 

Magda didn't answer right away. She stared down at the lace. Gently, she lifted an edge of the material, feeling the delicate fabric flow through her fingers. Somehow she had never imagined magic being used to create something like this. Or to  _ create _ anything at all, really. "It might," she said softly. "With some. But I should hope people will be able to... set that aside. Work this beautiful deserves to be appreciated."

 

The eyes looked elsewhere, and the fabric seller smiled again. "Good. We can start discussing a price, though delivery will have to be... unorthodox." He glanced at the metal ship. "I hope they have better aim this time," he muttered, almost inaudibly.

 

"Aim?" said Magda, confused and slightly alarmed.

 

"The Shikanen delivered a load of fabrics of theirs for him to examine," one of the other merchants said helpfully. "In a giant metal pod they dropped from the sky. They hit his shed instead of the grass."

 

She eyed the metal ship in dismay. "If I pay extra, would it be possible to arrange for an alternate shipping method?"

 

###

 

Running a fleet was always a difficult matter, no matter what nation owned it. Running a Shikanen fleet was triply difficult, thanks to the nature of the Confederacy military. A half-dozen separate clans owned and crewed the Navy ships, another dozen or so contributed the Army soldiers and vehicles on board, and uncounted hundreds of minor houses squabbled for rank and prestige in both. A Shikanen of his rank thus had to forswear any allegiance to any clan. Salud du Kraigmarine. Salud of the War Navy. Perhaps, one day, after centuries had passed, he would lay down that name and become Salud du Schmaidgott again. 

For now, though, he had an angry human to deal with.

Arthur Bretonius Cidet was famed and feared. Spymaster and schemer, the man who kept the armies of the Galactic Liberation Front fed and armed while his colleague Abram Hammerheim led them to victory after victory. The universe’s most terrifying bureaucrat, not due to skill at arms or strength but through the charisma lent by quiet, confident competence. And a friend.

The man's glare, even though he was familiar with it, was indeed formidable.

Salud steepled his fingers. "What is it?"

 

"Carviss. And the team you sent to join him."

 

"And?"

 

"The fact that not only are you allowing some of your most capable soldiers to go AWOL for his revenge mission, but devoting further resources to it, is immensely concerning. Especially considering the person Carviss intends to kill. So I'd like to know your reasoning."

 

"Gods die," Salud said simply. "Azrael proved that. And the punishment for the murder of an ambassador is death. Why should I prevent him from acquiring the tools necessary to carry out the proper sentence?"

He smiled, in the most disconcerting fashion he knew.

"The Confederacy cares for it's own, General. Even the  _ ainloskreigen _ . I am not so cruel as to keep one of our number from avenging the death of a loved one."

 

"And the consequences from outright killing a member of the local pantheon?"

 

"There will not be consequences, not in the manner you are thinking. My contribution does more than lend a helping hand, General. They also are investigating. One of the more interesting tidbits they found was the precise nature of Domhan's deities. You should be receiving the files within the day."

 

"Give me the gist."

 

"Each god of theirs was once a mortal. The name and the purpose are inherited, but the person behind each and every one started as a normal person. And even if they die, someone else will take their place and power."

 

"So Carviss gets his revenge, but the pantheon, and whatever they do to keep the planet turning, stays intact."

 

Salud nodded. "Precisely."

 

Cidet sighed. "I miss the days when we didn't have magic and the world made sense," he said. "No lightning-wielding wolfmen, no deicidal rogue operatives, no alternate universes filled with physically impossible geography."

 

Salud shrugged. "You are human. Your race is insane to begin with."

 

"Says the man who considers a blinding snowstorm light weather."

 

"You live in deserts willingly. You have no ground to stand on."

 

They grinned at each other.

 

"So, do you think he can pull it off?" Cidet asked.

 

Salud nodded. "He's prepared, this time. He'll win."

 


End file.
